RAMSHACKLE  HOUSE 
HULBERT  FOOTNER 


Ramshackle  House 


By  HULBERT  FOOTNER 


AUTHOR  OF 

"The  Deaves  Affair,*  "The  Owl  Taxi,"  "The  Substitute 
Millionaire,"  "Thieves'  Wit,"  etc. 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY 

Publishers  New  York 

Published  by  arrangement  with  George  H.   Doran  Company 
Printed  in  U.   S.   A. 


COPYRIGHT,    1922, 
•T  HULBERT  FOOTNER 


RAMSHACKLE   HOUSE.    I 


PRINTED   IN   THE    UNITED   STATES   OF   AMERICA 


CONTENTS 


F1 


I  The  Canoeist >:  >:  >  9 

II  The  Story  in  the  Sun-Paper  .  .  >;  -f]  K  ...  38 

III  An  Irruption  from  the  World  .  ..;  >;  :•:  •  60 

IV  Beside  the  Little  Temple  .  .  .  w  :.;  w  >  77 
V  On  Board  the  Alexandra    .  ..;  >;  ^  ^  >.  >  103 

VI  Moonlight    .......  ...  w  M  A  :.j  >:  125 

VII  The  Trip  to  Town      .     .  >:  >;  x  s  L.,  .  145 

VIII  The  Return       .     .     .     ..  >;  .j  M  M  K  .  172 

IX  The  Night  Long    .     .     ...  >:  >j  >.  >.  .;  >•  191 

X  Days  of  Suspense                .  ..;  .:  >j  >.-  >,  >.  219 

XI  Pen's  Hand  is  Forced  .     .  >:  .;  >:  x  &  :<  245 

XII  The  Alexandra  Sails  Away  ..  A  >;  x  >•  L.  270 

XIII  In  Chambers     .     .     .     •.  •.  a  is  :•:  K  >•  285 

XIV  Extra!     .....     .,    ..  >:  A  >;  M  »  >:  307 

XV  Postscript     .     s     .     ..;    A  A  .j  M  >j  >j  x  309 


8135435 


RAMSHACKLE  HOUSE 


RAMSHACKLE  HOUSE 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  CANOEIST 

BROOME'S  POINT  proper  is  a  crescent-shaped 
spit  of  sand  separating  the  mouth  of  the  Pocomi- 
co  River  from  the  waters  of  Chesapeake  Bay.  The  end 
of  the  spit  is  decorated  with  one  of  those  odd  struc- 
tures that  our  lighthouse  service  is  so  partial  to,  an 
octagonal  house  mounted  on  spreading,  spindly  piles, 
the  whole  looking  uncommonly  like  a  spider.  The 
Broome  estate  comprises  all  the  high  ground  back  of 
the  spit  for  upwards  of  four  miles  up  the  bay  shore 
and  a  mile  along  the  river.  The  mansion  stands 
proudly  on  a  bold  bluff  overlooking  the  river  mouth. 
It  is  one  of  those  square  packing-boxes  with  a  "cupa- 
low"  so  popular  with  the  builders  of  the  sixties.  It 
has  never  been  painted  since  the  first  time  and  its 
once  white  face  is  streaked  with  rust  from  the  gutters 
like  the  marks  left  by  tears  on  dirty  cheeks.  One  of 
the  snuggest  anchorages  on  the  coast  is  under  the  bank 
upon  which  it  stands.  The  river  mouth  itself  forms 
a  great  basin  three  miles  across  in  which  all  the  navies 
of  the  world  might  ride.  One  shore  of  it  is  as  wild 
and  deserted  as  the  other.  A  mile  or  so  up  the  river 

9 


io  Ramshackle  House 

lies  Absolom's  Island  with  its  oystering  village,  con- 
nected with  the  hinterland  by  a  causeway. 

On  Decoration  Day  there  was  a  battle-ship  lying 
in  the  river.  As  Pen  Broome  flew  in  and  out  of  the 
big  house  upon  her  interminable  chores  she  had  a 
distant  view  of  the  holiday  crowds  on  the  green  com- 
mon of  the  Island.  Black  and  white  splotches  repre- 
sented the  game  of  ball  that  was  going  on  between 
the  island  boys  and  the  sailors  and  black  dots  stood 
for  the  automobiles  of  week-end  trippers  from  the 
great  world.  Later  Pen  knew  there  had  been  a  church 
supper  under  the  big  linden  trees  alongside  the  parson- 
age, and  at  night  a  dance  up  the  county.  Ordinarily 
Pen  was  not  given  to  resenting  her  lot;  she  was  too 
busy.  She  had  no  personal  interest  in  sailors  nor  in 
the  island  boys,  and  very  little  in  the  county  people, 
her  own  sort.  But  to-day  the  spectacle  of  holiday-mak- 
ing brought  an  unbearable  gnawing  to  her  breast.  She 
was  twenty-four. 

Pen  was  no  tame  and  pathetic  figure.  She  was  the 
sort  of  youngster  that  is  made  savage  by  pain.  Con- 
sequently next  morning  there  was  thunder  in  the  air 
at  Broome's  Point.  Pen's  storms  were  rare  and  rather 
terrible.  They  cleared  the  air  wonderfully.  Perhaps 
it  would  have  been  better  for  that  slack  household 
if  they  had  broken  oftener.  Black  Aunt  Maria  Gar- 
ner seeing  her  mistress'  face,  rolled  the  whites  of  her 
eyes  apprehensively,  and  propelled  her  unwieldy  bulk 
about  the  kitchen  with  a  surprising  celerity.  She  said 
cooingly : 

"Honey,  Ah'm  gwine  beat  yo'  up  nice  li'l  cheese 
souffle  fo'  yo'  lunch!" 


The  Canoeist  II 

"Go  along  with  you,  Aunt  Maria  1"  cried  Pen  with 
an  exasperated  laugh.  "I'm  not  going  to  be  taken  in 
with  your  cheese  souffles  I  If  you  want  to  please  me 
get  your  work  done !  Look  at  this  kitchen  1" 

'  'Deed  honey,  Ah  done  come  at  sun-up  this  mawnin'. 
Deed  I  doggone  swear  did  II" 

"What  good  is  your  coming  at  sun-up  or  sun-down  if 
you  only  rock  your  fat  body  on  a  chair  and  smoke  that 
filthy  pipe!" 

"Miss  Penny,  honey,  I  got  the  mos'  awfulles' 
misehy.  .  .  ." 

"That's  enough  of  your  misery.  When  I  came  in 
that  door  you  started  to  move  as  spry  as  a  kitten  af- 
ter its  tail!" 

At  this  moment  the  head  of  Theodo',  Aunt  Maria's 
sixth  or  thereabouts,  appeared  outside  the  kitchen  win- 
dow. Aunt  Maria  unseen  by  Pen  silently  and  frantic- 
ally waved  him  back,  but  his  momentum  was  too  great. 
He  came  on  in  with  his  foolish,  engaging  grin. 

Pen  whirled  around. 

"What  are  you  doing  in  the  house  at  this  hour?" 
she  demanded. 

Theodo's  face  turned  ashy,  but  he  still  grinned. 
"Ah  .  .  .  Ah  jes'  come  fo'  watah,"  he  stammered. 

"And  left  your  horses  standing  in  the  field !"  stormed 
Pen.  "You  don't  want  wate'r.'  It's  only  because 
you  can't  keep  your  trifling  mind  on  your  work  for 
more  than  half  an  hour  at  a  time.  To-morrow  is  the 
.first  of  June  and  you  haven't  got  your  ploughing  done  I 
And  everybody  else's  corn  is  six  inches  high !  Go  back 
to  your  horses  and  let  me  hear  no  more  of  water  In 


12  Ramshackle  House 

Thcodo'  slunk  out. 

But  the  storm  did  not  really  break  until  Pen,  going 
to  make  her  butter,  found  the  broken  paddle  of  her 
churn  still  unmended.  She  marched  back  through 
the  kitchen,  through  the  big  pantry  into  the  dining- 
room  bearing  the  broken  paddle  like  Nemesis.  Aunt 
Maria's  vast  body  heaved  in  silent  chuckles. 

"Boss  gwine  catch  it  now  fo'  sho',"  she  murmured, 
and  waddling  silently  through  the  pantry,  put  her 
ear  to  the  crack  of  the  dining-room  door. 

She  was  not  disappointed.  Within  the  dining-room 
lightning  played  about  the  startled  head  of  the  elder 
Pendleton  Broome.  And  indeed  young  Pen  was  sorely 
tried.  Her  father  was  an  amiable  incompetent  who 
frittered  away  his  time  on  a  dozen  unprofitable  hobbies 
while  his  estate  fell  into  ruin  about  him.  Not  his 
fault  entirely  of  course,  for  it  was  a  hopeless  job  to 
keep  up  twenty-five  hundred  acres  without  any  money. 
And  not  an  acre  of  it  salable.  To  get  the  smallest 
things  done  about  the  place  required  an  expenditure 
of  energy  from  Pen  sufficient  to  have  won  campaigns. 
For  weeks  her  father  had  been  promising  to  mend  her 
churn.  Even  with  a  whole  churn  she  made  butter 
under  the  greatest  difficulties,  because  by  the  time  he 
had  got  round  to  repairing  the  ice  house  it  was  too 
late  to  put  up  ice.  She  reminded  him  of  that  now  .  .  . 
and  of  other  things. 

Pendleton  Broome  essayed  to  pull  the  rags  of  his 
dignity  about  him  .  .  .  without  much  success.  He 
was  one  of  these  half-hearted  little  corpulent  men, 
partly  bald,  an  odd* and  pathetic  figure  in  his  old 
clothes  with  an  air  of  breeding  still  upon  him.  Often 


The  Canoeist  13 

when  she  was  abusing  him  the  tears  would  suddenly 
spring  into  Pen's  eyes. 

"But  my  dear,  I  can't  Iceep  my  mind  on  butter!" 
he  protested. 

"If  I  didn't  keep  my  mind  on  butter  we'd  all 
starve!"  stormed  Pen. 

"I  intended  to  mend  the  churn,"  he  explained,  "but 
in  Friday's  *S««-paper,  as  you  know,  another  corre- 
spondent undertook  to  refute  the  arguments  in  my  let- 
ter on  the  Mendelian  theory.  And  in  answering  him 
I  clean  forgot  about  the  churn!" 

"The  Mendelian  theory!"  cried  Pen.  "Will  that 
feed  us?"  Her  voice  went  off  into  wild  inextinguish- 
able laughter.  The  little  man  stared  at  her  with  an 
affronted  air.  Pen  suddenly  turned  and  flew  out 
through  the  hall  and  across  the  porch.  Her  storms 
generally  ended  in  this  way,  in  tears.  Nobody  ever 
saw  her  cry  though. 

Running  like  a  sand-piper  she  skimmed  across  the 
weedy  lawn,  threaded  the  bordering  shrubbery  and 
ducked  through  a  gap  in  the  palings.  She  ran  along 
the  edge  of  a  little  field  behind  the  empty  and  ruinous 
tenant  cottage,  and  into  the  woods  by  a  faint  path  worn 
by  her  own  feet  and  no  other's.  Two  hundred  yards 
within  the  woods  she  came  out  in  a  little  clearing  upon 
a  bench  of  land  overlooking  a  pond  densely  hemmed 
round  by  the  woods,  like  a  deep  green  bowl  with  brown 
water  in  the  bottom.  Here  she  cast  herself  down. 

The  clearing  contained,  a  strange  sight  in  those 
rude  surroundings,  a  little  Doric  temple  dating  from 
the  eighteenth  century.  It  was  just  a  circle  of  plain 
columns  holding  up  a  little  flattish  dome,  the  marble 


14  Ramshackle  House 

all  silvery  with  lichen,  and  wistfully  beautiful  against 
the  greenery.  Within  the  columns  open  to  the  winds 
was  a  raised  grave  of  the  period  built  of  brick  and 
topped  with  a  marble  slab  carved  with  the  Broomc 
arms  and  with  an  inscription  setting  forth  the  virtues 
of  a  Pendleton  Broome  who  died  in  1720  at  the  age 
of  twenty-three. 

This  spot  no  doubt  because  of  its  disquieting  beauty 
had  long  ago  acquired  a  bad  name  in  the  neighborhood. 
It  had  been  avoided  by  so  many  generations  as  to  have 
become  almost  completely  forgotten.  Those  of  the 
natives  who  knew  of  it  would  not  have  ventured  near 
under  any  circumstances.  Pen  herself  had  stumbled  on 
the  place  by  accident  years  before  and  had  made  it 
her  own.  With  her  own  childish  hands  she  had 
cleared  out  the  undergrowth,  and  from  time  to  time 
had  planted  ferns,  "ivory",  violets  and  the  moccasin 
flower  until  in  the  spring  it  was  like  a  flower-bedecked 
chancel  with  her  young  kinsman  lying  in  state  in  the 
center  of  it. 

Pen  looked  upon  the  long  dead  youth  as  the  brother 
she  had  never  had  in  the  flesh.  Once  she  had  looked 
up  to  him  as  her  big  brother,  but  lately  he  had  become 
most  lovably  her  junior,  for  he  remained  imperishably 
twenty-three.  Not  especially  imaginative  she  never- 
theless pictured  him  vividly  in  a  plum-colored  velvet 
suit  with  a  flare  to  the  skirt  of  his  coat,  Mechlin  lace 
at  his  wrists  and  throat,  sword  at  side  and  tricorn 
hat,  his  chestnut  curls  tied  with  a  black  moire  ribbon. 
The  Broomes  were  a  bright-haired,  blue-eyed  race; 
Pen  had  brought  black  hair  into  the  family  from  her 
mother's  side.  She  pictured  the  earlier  Pen  mixing 


The  Canoeist  15 

with  the  wits  of  his  day  with  a  bit  of  a  swagger.  Ac- 
cording to  family  tradition  he  had  died  in  London, 
and  his  body  was  shipped  home  to  his  inconsolable 
parents  preserved  in  a  cask  of  brandy.  The  stones 
of  his  little  temple  must  have  been  brought  from  Eng- 
land too,  in  the  tobacco  ships.  How  dearly  that  Pen 
must  have  been  loved,  this  Pen  thought,  and  loved 
him  the  better  for  it. 

She  cast  herself  down  beside  his  grave  and  unpacked 
her  heart.  The  real  source  of  her  pain  had  nothing 
to  do  with  broken  butter  paddles  of  course. 

"Turkeys  and  chickens  and  ducks!  Ducks  and  tur- 
keys and  chickens !  Making  butter  three  times  a  week 
and  canning  all  summer!  Is  that  all  there  is  to  live 
for  as  long  as  I  live?  .  .  .  Ah  my  dear,  my  dear,  if 
I  had  you  really!  Someone  young  to  be  withl  .  .  . 
But  I'm  shriveling  up  alone  I" 

But  the  place  quieted  her  as  it  always  did.  She  be- 
came silent.  Bye  and  bye  she  turned  her  head  side- 
ways on  her  arm  and  looked  down  at  the  brown  pond 
almost  dusty  in  the  sunshine  and  thought  of  nothing 
at  all.  Her  face  smoothed  out.  Pen's  cheeks  were 
not  smooth  like  a  doll's  but  had  faint  hollows  of  emo- 
tion that  strangely  stirred  a  man's  breast.  Nor  was 
she  of  brittle  build  like  a  city  maiden.  Lying  prone 
on  the  earth  like  that,  in  her  full  soft  curves  she  sym- 
bolized the  morning  of  earth. 

This  place  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  point. 
Across  the  pond  from  where  Pen  lay,  only  a  few  hun- 
dred yards  away,  was  the  bay  with  its  steamships  pass- 
ing up  and  down,  but  all  hidden  from  her  by  the  in- 
tervening greenery.  A  winding  creeklet  flowed  in 


1 6  Ramshackle  House 

with  the  flood  and  out  with  the  ebb.  At  low  tide  it 
lost  itself  in  the  sand  of  the  beach  outside.  Nobody 
but  Pen  ever  came  near  the  spot.  Year  after  year  a 
white  heron  nested  under  a  tangle  of  vines  that  hung 
in  the  water,  and  in  the  spring  the  great  shad  came 
flopping  clumsily  through  three  inches  of  water  to 
spawn  inside.  Pen  saw  the  white  heron  with  a  cau- 
tious preliminary  look  around,  enter  the  thicket  that 
concealed  her  nest,  and  watched  lazily  for  her  to  re- 
appear. With  every  breath  the  girl  was  unconsciously 
drawing  comfort  from  the  earth  upon  which  she  lay. 

Finally  she  sat  up  with  a  sigh  and  patted  her  hair 
into  place.  Her  "sensible"  look  returned;  a  wry  smile 
appeared  about  her  lips.  "You  fool!"  she  said  to  her- 
self. "Wasting  the  best  hours  of  the  day  I  When  you 
get  back  even  if  the  paddle  is  mended  it  will  be  too 
hot  to  churn  1  And  by  night  the  cream  will  be  too 
sour!" 

She  arose  with  a  shake  of  her  skirts  and  walked 
sedately  and  somewhat  self-consciously  back  to  the 
house,  though  there  was  none  to  see  her.  As  soon  as 
she  came  out  from  the  woods  the  blue  expanse  of  the 
river  mouth  was  spread  before  her  with  the  gray  bat- 
tle-ship lying  out  in  mid-stream  and  off  to  the  right 
Absolom's  Island  with  its  row  of  white  cottages.  She 
ducked  through  the  fence  and  picked  her  way  around 
the  tangled  shrubs.  When  she  came  out  from  under 
the  mimosa  tree  she  was  greatly  astonished  to  see  a 
strange  man  sitting  on  the  porch  beside  her  father. 
Another  step  and  she  saw  that  he  was  young;  one  more 
step  showed  him  to  be  uncommonly  good-looking.  Pen 
stopped  dead  in  her  tracks.  Sternly  repressing  the 


The  Canoeist  17 

impulse  to  run,  she  stiffened  her  back  and  putting  on 
a  haughty  expression,  marched  on  to  meet  the  enemy. 

The  hardest  thing  she  had  to  do  was  to  mount  the 
porch.  For  the  steps  had  rotted  away  and  Pen's 
father  had  put  down  a  little  box  and  a  big  box  to 
climb  up  on  "until  he  got  around  to  fixing  the  steps." 
The  boxes  had  been  there  for  two  years  now.  Some- 
body had  gone  through  the  top  of  the  little  box  and 
an  old  piece  of  board  had  been  laid  across  it. 

The  young  man  was  a  tall  fellow;  bright-haired, 
ruddy  and  smiling,  with  beautiful  white  teeth.  He  was 
wearing  white  flannel  trousers  of  fine  quality  rather 
soiled  and  a  snowy  shirt  cut  off  at  the  elbows  and  open 
to  reveal  a  smooth  brown  throat.  Pen  was  taken  by 
surprise.  Something  about  him,  the  strong  bare  neck 
like  a  column,  the  laughing  eyes  that  had  yet  a  sort  of 
hunger  in  them  too,  turned  her  suddenly  giddy.  She 
was  furious  at  her  own  weakness — and  at  him  for 
being  the  cause  of  it.  If  in  that  moment  he  had  said: 
"Come !"  and  had  walked  off  with  a  curt  jerk  of  the 
head,  she  would  have  had  to  follow.  It  was  the  secret 
consciousness  of  this  that  appalled  her. 

Fortunately  for  her  he  was  civilized.  He  merely 
smiled  as  a  gentleman  may  in  frank  admiration — but 
not  too  frank.  He  was  clearly  what  Pen  called  a  gen- 
tleman. The  thought  was  balm  to  her  soul.  For  if 
he  had  not  been  she  knew  it  would  have  been  just  the 
same  with  her.  The  first  gentleman  she  had  seen  in  so 
many  months !  It  was  comforting  to  be  assured  that 
they  still  walked  the  earth. 

As  in  a  dream  she  heard  her  father  saying:  "Mr. 
Donald  Counsell  .  .  .  my  daughter.  Her  name  is 


1 8  Ramshackle  House 

Pendleton  Broome  the  same  as  my  own.  It  is  a  family 
custom." 

She  heard  the  young  man  apologizing  for  his  ap- 
pearance. "I  never  expected  to  .  .  ." 

Pen  caught  him  up  sharply.  "Find  white  people 
here?  You  wouldn't.  From  the  look  of  the  place." 

Both  men  were  disconcerted  by  her  brusqueness.  Pen 
was  horribly  ashamed  of  herself.  "I  will  not  blush! 
...  I  will  not  blush!"  she  said  to  herself,  glaring  out 
across  the  river.  After  the  first  glance  she  never 
looked  at  the  young  man  again,  but  was  nevertheless 
tinglingly  conscious  of  his  aspect;  the  fine  lines  of  his 
body,  his  fair  tanned  skin,  and  always  of  those  merry, 
speaking,  wistful  eyes.  "What  has  happened  to  me? 
.  .  .  What  has  happened  to  me?"  a 'little  voice  within 
her  seemed  to  be  wailing. 

The  young  man  tried  to  smooth  things  over.  "What 
a  heavenly  spot !  As  I  have  already  told  your  father, 
I'm  loafing  down  the  Bay  in  a  canoe." 

"What  do  you  do  when  the  wind  blows?"  asked 
the  elder  Pendleton. 

"Oh,  go  ashore  and  sit  and  smoke  by  my  fire." 

"Don't  you  get  lonely?" 

A  shadow  crossed  the  young  man's  open  counte- 
nance. "No,  I'm  fed  up  with  people,"  he  said  shortly. 
".  .  .  That  is,  city  people,"  he  added  with  a  glance 
through  his  lashes  at  Pen. 

A  sudden  flame  of  jealousy  burned  Pen's  breast. 
"There  have  been  many  women  in  his  life!"  And  im- 
mediately: "Oh,  what  a  fool  I  ami"  she  promptly 
added. 

Pendleton  glanced  admonishingly  at  his  daughter. 


The  Canoeist  19 

Where  was  the  courtesy  to  strangers  for  which  the 
Broomes  were  famous?  The  glance  was  wasted  upon 
Pen.  An  awkward  silence  resulted. 

Finally  the  young  man  said  politely:  "I  came  to 
see  if  I  could  get  some  butter  and  eggs." 

"Certainly"  said  Pen  stiffly.  "Eggs  are  twenty  cents 
a  dozen,  butter  forty  cents  the  pound." 

She  bit  her  tongue  as  soon  as  it  was  out,  but  could 
not  have  helped  herself.  Some  power  stronger  than 
her  will  forced  her  to  put  her  worst  foot  foremost. 
Pendleton  pere  was  frankly  shocked,  but  the  young 
man  was  not  put  out  at  all.  He  grinned  at  her  de- 
lightfully and  murmured  too  low  for  her  father  to 
hear: 

"Cheap  at  half  the  price!" 

It  did  not  help  Pen  any.  "He's  laughing  at  mel" 
she  said  to  herself  in  a  rage.  "Thinks  he  can  have 
me  at  his  own  price !  .  .  .  He'll  sec  I" 

Pendleton  coughed  behind  his  hand  as  a  direct  re- 
minder to  Pen  of  the  time-honored  hospitality  of  their 
house.  Pen  didn't  get  it.  The  effort  to  master  her 
inexplicable  emotions  made  her  look  almost  stupid. 
In  the  end  Pendleton  himself  was  obliged  to  say: 

"You  will  have  dinner  with  us?" 

Counsell's  face  lighted  up.  "You  are  very  kind, 
but  .  .  ."  He  looked  at  Pen  again. 

"We'll  be  very  pleased  to  have  you,"  Pen  said  as 
primly  as  a  school-marm,  and  despising  herself  for  it. 
Why  couldn't  she  be  natural? 

"Well,  thanks,  I  will,"  Counsell  said  heartily.  "Af- 
ter three  days  in  camp  a  square  meal  will  be  a  god- 
send !  I  may  say  I'm  no  great  shakes  of  a  cook." 


20  Ramshackle  House 

Pen's  breast  warmed  at  the  thought  of  feeding  the 
youth.  "Dinner"  had  the  effect  of  recalling  her  scat- 
tered faculties.  Her  mind  flew  to  the  question :  What 
is  there?  .  .  .  The  ham-bone?  »  .  .  Impossible  I 
.  .  .  Stuffed  eggs  .  .  ,  lettuce  .  .  .  radishes  .  .  . 
strawberries.  There  is  that  bottle  of  my  three  year 
old  grape  wine.  .  .  Not  enough  for  a  hungry  man. 
He's  so  vigorous  I  ...  If  I  could  put  it  off  until  half- 
past  one  I  might  get  the  boys  to  catch  me  some  soft 
crabs  .  .  .  No,  the  tide  is  too  highl  ...  I  have  it  I 
The  cheese  souffle !" 

Excusing  herself  she  went  into  the  house  to  get  her 
preparations  under  way.  In  the  hall  she  came  to  a 
dead  stop  with  her  arms  hanging  limply,  and  looked 
into  the  future  with  a  sort  of  horror.  Her  thought 
was:  "I'm  a  goner  I  ...  I  have  lost  myself  .  .  . 
lost  .  .  .1"  She  pulled  herself  together  with  a  jerk 
and  flew  into  the  kitchen,  where  for  the  next  half  hour 
things  hummed.  Aunt  Maria  Garner  loved  to  cook 
for  company. 

Later,  Pen  having  changed  her  dress,  was  setting 
the  table.  Through  the  open  window  she  could  hear 
her  father  retailing  the  Broome  family  history  in  the 
slightly  throaty  voice  of  self-importance.  Pen  knew 
his  tale  by  heart. 

".  .  .  Settled  here  since  1710  .  .  .  2500  acres 
.  .  .  the  estate  runs  four  miles  up  the  Bay  shore. 
.  .  .  The  first  house  built  here  was  a  fine  Colonial 
mansion  with  a  pillared  portico.  Burned  by  the  British 
on  their  expedition  against  Washington  in  the  1812 
affair.  A  comfortable  farmhouse  with  great  chimneys 
arose  out  of  its  ruins.  The  present  structure  was 


The  Canoeist  21 

erected  in  1869.  This  was  the  style  then,  a  great 
square  block  with  a  cupola.  Considered  magnificent  in 
its  day.  Very  fine  rooms.  You'll  see  them  presently. 
It  contains  the  oldest  bath-room  in  Southern  Maryland. 
Unfortunately  out  of  order  at  present. 

"This  house  was  built  by  my  father  on  his  return 
from  Peru.  He  was  a  man  of  resource.  When  every- 
body hereabouts  was  ruined  by  the  war  he  emigrated 
to  South  America.  Got  in  with  the  right  people  in 
Peru  and  made  a  great  fortune  in  a  year  or  two.  In- 
vested it  in  Peruvian  bonds.  He  returned  and  laid 
out  the  old  family  place  on  a  princely  scale,  princely. 
Laid  out  twenty  miles  of  roads  through  the  woods  for 
his  guests  to  take  horse  exercise.  At  one  time  he  had 
five  hundred  employees  on  the  place  white  and  black. 
How  well  I  remember  as  a  child  when  the  family  de- 
parted for  Newport  where  my  father  had  another 
place,  they  would  all  be  lined  up  to  say  good-by  in 
a  double  row  extending  far  beyond  the  gate.  We 
would  walk  between  and  my  father  would  shake  hands 
with  each  one  and  say  a  few  kind  words.  There  was 
scarcely  a  dry  eye  among  them!" 

Pen,  listening  to  this  innocent  tale,  felt  her  cheeks 
burn. 

Pendleton  concluded  with  a  sigh:  "Unfortunately 
there  was  a  revolution  in  Peru.  The  dastardly  cut- 
throats who  seized  the  reins  of  government  repudiated 
the  obligations  of  their  country." 

"In  other  words  the  bonds  were  N.  G.,"  murmured 
Counsell. 

"Exactly.  My  father's  fortune  was  swept  away 
overnight.  Since  then  it  has  been  a  struggle.  Too 


22  Ramshackle  House 

much  land  and  too  little  money.  But  I  look  for  better 
times  .  .  .  better  times." 

Counsell  asked  a  question. 

"The  railway,"  Pendleton  answered  with  an  air. 
"The  Broome's  Point  railway.  It  will  terminate  in 
that  gully  down  to  the  right  there.  It  was  first  pro- 
jected forty  years  ago,  the  right  of  way  all  graded 
and  the  trestles  built  ready  for  the  rails.  Unfortunate- 
ly there  was  chicanery  somewhere;  construction  was 
held  up.  Since  then  the  enterprise  has  been  revived 
from  time  to  time,  but  something  has  always  happened. 
But  it  will,  it  must  come  some  day.  I  am  bringing  in- 
fluence to  bear.  I  have  made  liberal  offers  of  land  to 
the  promoters.  That  is  the  finest  harbor  on  the  coast 
that  lies  before  you.  Baltimore  is  jealous.  Powerful 
interests  were  brought  to  bear  against  the  project  the 
last  time  it  was  started.  Trumped-up  charges  laid 
against  the  promoter." 

"What  happened  to  him?"  asked  Counsell. 

"Well,  he's  in  jail  at  present,"  said  Pendleton  rue- 
fully. "But  he  will  come  out  with  flying  colors.  He 
enjoys  my  entire  confidence.  He  explained  everything 
to  me.  The  railway  must  come  before  long.  My  place 
is  all  laid  out  in  town  lots." 

Pen  gritted  her  teeth.  She  could  picture  the  world- 
ly-wise young  man  laughing  at  her  foolish  little  father 
from  behind  his  grave  face. 

She  called  them  into  lunch.  She  was  painfully  con- 
scious of  the  discrepancies  of  her  house,  but  as  a  mat- 
ter of  fact  Counsell  was  astonished  when  he  entered. 
Pen  had  full  control  within  the  house  and  the  squalor 
was  left  out  of  doors.  The  furniture,  what  there  was 


The  Canoeist  23 

left  of  it,  dated  from  the  same  ugly  period  as  the 
house,  but  there  were  certain  touches;  the  lofty  rooms 
were  cool,  inviting,  full  of  charm.  Poor  as  the 
Broomes  were  one  could  never  mistake  it  for  other 
than  a  lady's  house.  Particularly  the  dining-room  with 
its  velvety  smooth  walnut  table,  the  hand-made  mats, 
the  dull  old  silver,  the  flowers,  the  delicious  looking 
food. 

"Oh  1  but  I'm  hungry  1"  Counsell  said  involuntarily, 
showing  all  his  white  teeth. 

Glancing  at  Pen  he  found  her  eyes  obstinately  hid- 
den, but  she  betrayed  a  dimple. 

Not  until  she  heard  Counsell  pick  up  his  knife  and 
fork  did  she  venture  to  look  at  him.  She  had  been 
waiting  for  the  moment  when  his  attention  would  be 
distracted  by  food.  The  smooth  turn  of  his  ruddy 
cheek  and  his  long,  curved  lashes  hurt  her  with  de- 
light. There  was  something  affectingly  boyish  about 
him  for  all  his  strength  and  his  assured  air.  Pen 
yearned  to  mother  that  shining  head  against  her  breast. 
She  never  looked  at  him  but  the  once,  yet  she  was 
aware  of  every  mouthful  he  took,  and  every  mouthful 
gave  her  satisfaction. 

Pendleton  Broome  opened  his  eyes  rather  at  the 
spread.  The  glance  of  reproof  that  he  sent  across  to 
Pen  suggested  that  while  hospitality  was  the  first  law 
of  the  Broomes,  still  there  should  be  reason  in  all 
things.  From  that  moment  with  true  male  consistency 
he  began  to  cool  towards  their  young  guest. 

Nevertheless,  charmed  to  have  a  sophisticated  lis- 
tener, he  aired  all  his  quaint  and  impractical  theories. 
He  dabbled  in  chemistry  amongst  other  things,  and 


24  Ramshackle  House 

had  a  great  store  of  pseudo-scientific  patter.  Counsell 
listened  politely  and  made  the  suitable  rejoinders,  but 
never  lost  an  opportunity  of  trying  to  draw  Pen  into 
the  talk.  Pen,  resisting  his  efforts,  was  nevertheless 
secretly  delighted  with  his  adroitness.  It  made  her 
realize  how  she  had  been  hungering  for  the  graces  of 
intercourse. 

Once  Counsell  asked  her  directly:  "Do  you  know 
New  York?" 

"I  went  to  school  there."  She  named  a  famous 
finishing  school. 

Counsell  could  not  but  look  his  surprise. 

"I  had  a  legacy,"  said  Pen  demurely.  Her  father 
frowned. 

"Then  you  know  people  in  New  York?"  Counsell 
said  eagerly. 

She  shook  her  head.  "I  have  not  kept  up  with 
the  girls." 

"She  deliberately  dropped  them!"  her  father  put 
in  with  an  aggrieved  air.  "It  is  the  infernal  Broome 
pride.  She  was  most  popular  in  school." 

Pen  laughed  lightly.  "Northerners  are  different," 
she  said.  "They  don't  make  a  merit  of  their  departed 
glories." 

It  was  her  way  of  letting  Counsell  know,  without 
being  disloyal  to  her  father,  that  she  did  not  share  in 
her  elder's  delusions.  The  3'oung  man  looked  at  her 
in  a  new  way.  It  was  the  first  inkling  of  her  real  na- 
ture that  she  had  given  him.  Pen  felt  his  look  through 
and  through  her. 

Pendleton  took  advantage  of  the  pause  to  secure  the 
floor  again,  and  held  it  for  some  time.  But  he  had 


The  Canoeist  25 

to  eat  too,  and  as  soon  as  he  stopped  talking  to  chew, 
Counsell  turned  to  Pen. 

"Isn't  it  rather  lonely  here?" 

"Mercy,  no  I"  laughed  Pen.     "Far  too  much  to  dol" 

"I  suppose  there  are  lots  of  agreeable  people  in 
the  neighborhood?" 

"Up  the  county,  oh  yes,"  said  Pen. 

"And  you  have  all  sorts  of  jolly  parties?" 

"They  do,"  said  Pen  briefly. 

"Not  you?" 

Pen  explained.  "The  road  from  here  up  the  Neck 
that  connects  us  with  the  world  has  become  impassable 
for  motors,  even  if  we  had  one.  Even  a  buggy  can 
scarcely  get  through  now.  By  road  it's  twelve  miles 
to  the  nearest  white  man's  house.  Excepting  the 
squatters.  Our  only  way  of  communication  is  by 
motor-boat  with  the  Island.  Our  friends  do  not  live 
on  the  Island.  And  we've  no  way  of  getting  up  the 
county." 

"Have  you  no  white  neighbors  at  all?"  he  asked 
aghast. 

"Old  Mr.  Weems  Locket  who  keeps  the  light- 
house." 

"No  white  woman  near?" 

Pen  shrugged.  "No  special  hardship  in  that.  I 
like  men  just  as  well  as  women." 

"Nobody  but  the  light-keeper?" 

"Oh  yes,  in  bad  weather  the  bug-eyes  and  the  pungy- 
boats  lie  under  our  bank  and  the  skippers  come  ashore 
to  call  on  father  and  use  the  telephone." 

"In  winter  it  must  be  hard." 


26  Ramshackle  House 

"Oh  things  are  never  really  as  bad  as  they  seem 
to  one  who  doesn't  know  them." 

Just  the  same  his  sympathetic  voice  drew  some- 
thing out  of  her.  For  the  first  time  she  gave  him  her 
eyes  freely.  Wonderful  dark,  glowing  eyes  that  won 
something  of  him  that  he  never  got  back  again.  Her 
laughing,  somber  glance  said  as  plainly  as  if  the  words 
had  been  spoken:  "The  winter  here  is  Helll"  His 
eyes  laughed  back  in  hers,  surrendering,  and  for  an  in- 
stant they  were  one. 

This  brief  interchange  was  terribly  sweet  to  Pen; 
so  sweet  that  it  scared  her.  For  some  time  after- 
wards she  was  quite  stiff  with  him,  and  his  eyes  re- 
proached her. 

When  they  left  the  table  and  went  out  on  the  porch 
Counsell  made  a  deliberate  move  to  separate  her  from 
her  prosy  father.  With  all  his  politeness  the  young 
man  had  a  resolute  air. 

"I  think  this  is  simply  the  finest  site  for  a  house 
that  I  have  ever  seen,"  he  said  to  Pen.  "Let's  walk 
out  and  look  over  the  edge  of  the  bank." 

Pen's  heart  leaped — then  sank  again,  remembering 
the  morning's  work  still  undone,  and  the  afternoon's 
work  all  to  do.  Pendleton  looked  injured,  but  as  no 
one  paid  the  slightest  attention  to  him  he  made  be- 
lieve to  recollect  something  important  that  he  had  to 
do,  and  went  into  the  house.  Pen  pleaded  with  her 
sterner  self:  "Just  for  a  few  minutes!"  Meanwhile 
she  was  being  firmly  urged  towards  the  boxes.  Before 
she  was  aware  of  having  given  in,  she  found  herself 
well  on  the  way. 

They  strolled  across  the  neglected  lawn,  matted 


The  Canoeist  27 

with  horse-mint,  too  spicy  a  vegetable  to  the  taste  of 
the  stock  that  wandered  over  the  place.  The  drive 
once  paved  with  shell,  made  a  wide  circular  sweep  in 
front  of  the  house,  but  the  shell  had  disappeared  under 
the  horse-mint  too.  Part  of  the  old  bed  enclosed 
within  the  drive  Pen  had  dug  up  and  put  in  a  few 
dahlias.  These  she  had  essayed  to  protect  from  the 
horses  and  cows  and  sheep  by  a  miscellaneous  barri- 
cade of  boxes  and  boards.  She  blushed  for  it  now. 
She  couldn't  explain  to  him  that  she  had  an  instinct 
for  flowers  that  had  to  find  some  outlet. 

The  earthen  bank  was  sixty  feet  high.  In  the  days 
of  the  place's  glory  an  ingenious  gardener  had  planted 
honeysuckle  at  the  base  to  keep  it  from  washing  and 
now  the  tangled  vines  swept  all  the  way  up  to  their 
feet  in  a  bottle  green  wave  flecked  with  the  foam  of 
its  pale  blossoms.  The  scent  of  it  was  dangerously 
enervating  to  youth. 

"The  whole  world  down  here  is  full  of  honeysuckle," 
murmured  Don.  "In  the  evening  you  can  smell  it  far 
out  in  the  Bay." 

An  ineffably  lovely  panorama  was  spread  before 
them,  which  the  light  haze  customary  to  that  soft  land, 
endowed  with  a  curiously  moving  quality.  For  awhile 
in  silence  their  eyes  ranged  back  and  forth  from  Ab- 
solom's  Island  on  the  one  side  out  over  the  intenser 
blue  of  the  Bay.  At  their  feet  rode  a  battered  old 
schooner  with  a  deckload  of  cord  wood.  Down  at  the 
left  the  octagonal  lighthouse  on  its  spindly  legs  was 
just  within  range  of  their  vision. 

"My  camp  is  down  there,"  said  Don.    "On  the  other 


28  Ramshackle  House 

side  of  the  old  wharf.  The  curve  in  the  beach  hides 
it." 

They  sat  down  with  their  feet  hanging  over  the 
edge.  Pen's  conscience  was  protesting  more  faintly 
now.  She  had  recovered  from  her  surprise  attack 
and  had  her  forces  pretty  well  in  hand.  She  found 
she  was  all  right  if  she  avoided  looking  at  him.  There 
was  something  leaping  out  of  his  eyes  that  simply  con- 
founded her.  They  talked  about  anything  and  noth- 
ing. He  wanted  to  make  her  talk,  whereas  she  desired 
to  hear  him.  So  they  fenced.  The  little  undertones 
of  bitterness,  of  self-mockery,  in  Pen's  laughter  struck 
powerfully  on  the  man's  imagination.  It  appeared 
that  this  girl  most  decidedly  had  a  flavor  of  her  own. 

He  was  reluctant  to  talk  about  himself  and  Pen 
could  not  ask  questions.  Consequently  her  hungry  ears 
were  obliged  to  pounce  on  the  implications  of  his  talk 
for  information.  He  was  of  the  great  world  it  ap- 
peared. He  knew  everybody.  He  was  not  a  mere 
philistine.  He  knew  books,  pictures,  music;  all  that 
Pen  thirsted  for;  and  the  people  who  made  such  things 
were  among  his  friends.  "Though  I'm  only  a  common 
stockbroker,"  he  put  in  with  a  laugh.  This  pleased 
Pen.  She  thought:  "I  wouldn't  want  an  artist  for  a 
lover" — and  blushed  for  the  thought.  He  was  ex- 
actly what  she  wished  him  to  be.  It  seemed  to  her 
magical  that  such  a  one  should  have  been  brought  into 
her  life  if  only  for  an  hour  or  two.  Only  for  an  hour 
or  two !  She  kept  telling  herself  that  firmly.  "He'll 
be  gone  to-morrow  and  I  wishing  he  had  never  come !" 
That  was  the  explanation  of  the  bitterness. 


The  Canoeist  29 

She  did  ask  him  one  question.  "How  on  earth  did 
you  come  to  stray  down  here?" 

He  said:  "I  read  somewhere,  years  ago,  what  a 
lovely  and  little  known  country  there  was  on  the  west- 
ern shore  of  Chesapeake  Bay  ...  I  keep  a  canoe 
and  a  little  tent  handy  in  a  club-house  in  New  York. 
Whenever  the  world  is  too  much  with  me  I  just  paddle 
off  for  a  few  days." 

Pen's  few  minutes  lengthened  out  into  an  hour  and 
she  had  simply  not  the  strength  to  send  him  away. 
In  the  end  her  father  was  seen  approaching,  his  dis- 
colored straw  hat  placed  just  so,  a  jute  bag  over  his 
arm. 

"I'm  going  over  to  the  Island  to  get  the  mail,"  he 
said  to  Counsell  in  an  offhand  tone.  "Like  to  come 
along?  It's  considered  very  picturesque." 

Counsell  looked  at  Pen  in  indecision.  He  most  as- 
suredly did  not  want  to  go,  but  perhaps  the  best  way 
to  make  headway  with  the  girl  was  to  be  agreeable  to 
the  old  man.  You  couldn't  always  tell. 

"Won't  you  come  too?"  he  asked. 

Pen  shook  her  head.    "I've  a  hundred  things  to  do." 

"Couldn't  I  help?"  he  asked  eagerly. 

Pen  laughed  clearly.  "Heavens !  what  do  you  know 
about  turkey  chicks?  Or  making  butter  and  cleaning 
house?" 

He  still  hesitated. 

Pen  arose  briskly.  "Run  along,"  she  commanded. 
"When  you  come  back  perhaps  you'll  stay  to  supper." 
She  had  not  intended  to  ask  him.  It  was  surprised 
out  of  her.  It  surprised  her  father  too.  "Was  that 


30  Ramshackle  House 

necessary?"  his  elevated  eyebrows  asked.  He  did  not 
like  this  young  man  as  well  as  he  had  in  the  beginning. 

Counsell  blushed  red  with  pleasure.  "That  is  kind," 
he  said. 

"Then  mind  you're  back  in  time,"  said  Pen,  leaving 
them.  "You  never  can  tell  about  the  engine  in  our 
boat." 

She  flew  about  her  work.  The  butter  got  itself 
made,  and  the  eggs  collected.  Sundry  small  chicks 
were  treated  for  the  gaps,  and  the  far  wandering  tur- 
keys rounded  up.  Preparations  were  set  on  foot  for 
a  real  Southern  Maryland  supper;  soft  crabs,  fried 
chicken,  hot  biscuits,  strawberry  shortcake.  If  Pen 
had  had  her  way  she  would  have  stuffed  her  young  man 
like  a  Strasbourg  goose. 

All  afternoon  she  was  filled  with  an  excitement  that 
was  neither  wholly  pleasurable  nor  painful.  Her  heart 
would  keep  rising  in  her  throat,  and  stern  discipline 
was  required  to  put  it  down.  Finally  she  red  up  the 
house.  She  lingered  in  the  guest-room  her  hand 
caressing  the  white  spread,  while  she  debated  whether 
she  might  ask  him  to  spend  the  night.  She  foresaw 
her  father's  look  of  disapproval  but  that  did  not  in- 
fluence her  much.  But  she  decided  against  it  with  a 
firm  shake  of  the  head.  "Only  prolong  the  agony," 
she  said  to  herself,  with  her  little  smile  of  self-mockery. 

In  the  midst  of  her  activities  she  often  found  time 
to  run  out  on  the  porch  where  she  could  observe  the 
progress  of  the  Pee  Bee,  that  slab-sided  little  marine 
monster  that  ploughed  through  the  water  so  fiercely  at 
the  rate  of  five  miles  an  hour.  It  would  take  them 
fifty  minutes  to  go  and  come  if  they  did  not  loiter,  but 


The  Canoeist  31 

her  father  would  be  sure  to  want  to  show  Counsell  the 
Island,  and  incidentally  show  off  Counsell  to  the  Island- 
ers ;  he  would  get  into  talk  with  men  at  the  store.  Sure 
enough  it  was  four  o'clock  before  they  started  home. 
Half  way  over  the  Pee  Bee  suddenly  stopped.  Pen 
could  see  her  father  crouching  over  the  engine  in 
the  way  she  knew  so  well.  Counsell  was  perched  up 
on  the  bow  looking  towards  Broome  Point.  So  much 
the  better  for  him  if  he  knew  nothing  about  engines. 
Time  passed  and  they  did  not  budge.  "How  bored 
he  must  be!"  Pen  thought  anxiously.  "It  will  sicken 
him  of  us!" 

At  last  the  Pee  Bee  began  to  move  ahead  by  fits  and 
starts,  Pendleton  darting  to  and  fro  between  wheel  and 
engine.  How  familiar  Pen  was  with  the  little  comedy 
that  was  taking  place  on  board!  Pendleton  would 
never  let  anybody  else  steer!  When  the  Pee  Bee 
finally  passed  under  the  bank  Pen  could  still  follow 
her  progress  by  the  noise  she  made.  She  arranged 
matters  so  that  supper  should  come  on  the  table  at 
the  moment  the  disgruntled  men  crossed  the  porch. 

She  had  put  on  the  black  net  evening  dress  that  had 
been  made  over  three  times.  A  red  peony  in  her 
corsage  freshened  it  up  a  good  deal,  but  in  the  end 
Pen  threw  it  away.  "Too  coquettish!"  she  said, 
jeering  at  her  reflection  in  the  mirror.  She  had  no  idea 
how  lovely  she  looked  with  her  perfect  neck  and  arms, 
her  fine  capable  hands  a  little  roughened  by  work, 
her  eyes  big  with  feeling  yet  determinedly  reticent, 
and  those  soft,  red,  bitter  lips. 

Her  heart  sank  fathoms  deep  when  Pendleton  came 
in  alone. 


32  Ramshackle  House 

"Where's  Mr.  Counsell?"  she  asked  very  offhand. 

"Stopped  in  his  tent  to  tidy  up  a  bit,"  said  Pendle- 
ton  .  .  ,  "Was  it  necessary  .  .  ."  he  began  reprov- 
ingly. 

"You'd  better  do  the  same,"  said  Pen  coolly. 

Pendleton  dropped  the  bag  of  mail  in  the  hall  and 
went  upstairs  registering  disapproval  in  every  step. 
Pen  rushed  the  supper  out  into  the  oven  again.  Her 
heart  was  singing. 

Though  it  was  still  bright  out-of-doors  the  dining- 
table  was  lighted  by  a  red-shaded  swinging  lamp.  To 
be  sure  the  shade  was  only  of  paper,  but  it  made  none 
the  less  a  cheerful  glow.  When  Counsell  came  into 
the  room  his  good  manners  failed  him;  he  stopped 
short  and  stared  at  Pen  in  silence.  Pen  could  not  look 
at  him.  She  said  to  herself:  "He's  amused  at  my 
silliness;  dressing  up  in  these  old  rags!" 

At  the  table  they  gave  Pendleton  full  sway  and  it 
improved  his  humor.  Counsell  had  discovered  that 
it  pleased  Pen  best  to  have  him  encourage  her  father. 
Counsell's  conversation  with  her  was  limited  to  com- 
pliments on  the  wonderful  eats.  Pen  received  it  with 
her  little  twisted  smile.  That  was  the  way  she  was. 
She  knew  he  meant  it,  but  it  hurt — how  it  hurt!  Be- 
cause it  signified  nothing.  Nothing  would  come  of  it 
A  long  course  of  self-discipline  had  taught  Pen  never 
to  build  on  the  prospect  of  happiness,  that  thereby  she 
might  be  saved  a  crushing  disappointment  when  happi- 
ness failed  to  materialize. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  meal  Counsell  got  his  re- 
ward when  it  appeared  that  Pendleton,  owing  to  the 
time  he  had  wasted  on  the  river,  still  had  his  chores 


The  Canoeist  33 

to  do  about  the  place.  He  departed  for  the  barn. 
Aunt  Maria  Garner  waddled  back  and  forth,  clearing 
the  table  and  rolling  her  eyes  at  the  guest.  She  was 
not  a  well-trained  servant. 

"Shall  we  go  outside  ?"  suggested  Counsell. 

"Mosquitoes!"  said  Pen  smiling. 

She  led  the  way  into  the  great  dim  drawing-rooms 
on  the  other  side  of  the  hall.  The  only  illumination 
was  given  by  a  piano  lamp  with  a  yellow  paper  shade 
standing  beside  an  old  ebony  upright. 

"You  play?"  asked  Counsell. 

"Not  for  you,"  said  Pen  promptly.  "You  know  too 
much." 

"Anyway,  I'd  rather  have  you  talk  to  me,"  he  said. 
"We  haven't  started  to  get  acquainted  yet." 

Pen's  inner  voice  cried:  "What's  the  use?  What's 
the  use?" 

Her  little  painful  smile  tantalized  him.  He  said 
involuntarily:  "You  mock  at  everything  I  say." 

"Not  at  you,"  said  Pen.     "At  myself !" 

"I  don't  understand  you,"  he  complained. 

"And  you  have  known  so  many  girls!"  said  Pen, 
drawing  down  the  corners  of  her  lips. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "But  never  one  like  you.  In  town 
they  seem  to  be  cut  out  pretty  much  to  a  pattern.  Some 
well  cut,  some  badly.  But  all  the  same  pattern." 

Pen  thought:  "He's  a  good-natured  sort.  He  thinks 
I  expect  to  hear  this  sort  of  thing." 

There  they  sat  side  by  side  on  the  big  sofa  in  the 
seductive  half  light  of  the  great  room — but  something 
was  the  matter.  They  made  no  progress.  Perhaps 
having  desired  this  moment  so  much,  the  realization  of 


34  Ramshackle  House 

it  frightened  them.  With  too  much  feeling  they  were 
dumb;  and  they  did  not  know  each  other  well  enough 
to  be  comfortably  silent  together.  So  each  made  vari- 
ous attempts  to  start  something  which  only  resulted  in 
utter  banality.  They  found  themselves  talking  as 
primly  as  a  couple  in  an  old-fashioned  romance.  The 
sources  of  laughter  were  frozen  up.  And  the  more 
self-conscious  they  became,  the  stiffer  grew  their 
tongues. 

It  was  chiefly  Pen's  fault.  She  got  the  notion  in 
her  head  that  he  merely  desired  to  repay  her  hospi- 
tality with  a  little  gallantry,  and  she  blighted  his  warm 
overtures  as  with  a  frost.  It  was  due  to  her  fatal  in- 
stinct to  guard  against  a  pain  which  might  be  more 
than  she  could  bear. 

However  the  young  man  was  determined;  more- 
over he  had  a  reputation  to  keep  up.  More  experi- 
enced than  Pen  he  had  learned  how  a  little  natural- 
ness clears  the  air,  and  he  was  resolved  to  speak  his 
mind  no  matter  how  hard  she  made  it  for  him.  In  the 
end  he  blurted  it  out  awkwardly : 

"Why  shouldn't  I  tell  you?  ...  a  fellow  like  me 
,  .  .  knocking  about  .  .  .  making  a  joke  of  every- 
thing .  .  .  you  get  the  notion  girls  are  charming  use- 
less creatures  you've  got  to  put  up  with  because  they're 
so  charming  .  .  .  And  lots  of  them  are  useless  with- 
out even  being  charming  .  .  .  Makes  a  man  cynical 
.  .  .  And  then  to  meet  one  more  charming  than  any 
and  useful!  .  .  .  Oh,  I  express  myself  rottenly  I  .  .  . 
Well,  it  gives  you  a  jolt.  You've  got  to  rearrange  all 
your  ideas  .  .  ." 

This  was  simply  more  than  Pen  could  bear.    She  in- 


The  Canoeist  35 

sisted  to  herself  that  it  was  simply  gallantry  on  his 
part.  Gallantry  is  part  of  the  Maryland  tradition.  She 
laughed  in  a  way  that  dried  him  up,  and  made  him 
turn  a  dull  red. 

"Thanks  for  useful,"  she  said. 

The  sullen,  hurt  glance  he  bent  on  her  seemed  to 
say:  "You're  charming  but  you're  very  prickly!" 

That  put  the  finish  to  their  conservation.  To  the 
outward  view  they  presented  the  spectacle  of  two  nor- 
mal young  people  slightly  bored  with  each  other  and 
exchanging  perfunctory  remarks,  but  in  reality  each 
was  suffering  keenly.  They  couldn't  make  it  go.  Pen- 
dleton  returned  to  the  dining-room  where  they  could 
hear  him  rattling  the  newspaper,  and  they  were  even 
ready  to  wish  that  he  would  come  in  and  separate 
them  in  their  unhappiness.  Finally  Counsell  got  the 
idea  that  Pen  wished  to  be  rid  of  him.  After  all  he'd 
been  hanging  about  the  place  all  day.  He  rose  to  go. 

Pen's  heart  said:  "This  is  the  end!"  But  her  face 
only  showed  a  polite  and  wistful  blank.  She  said 
quietly: 

"You'll  be  moving  on  to-morrow,  I  suppose." 

"I  suppose  so,"  he  said  sullenly. 

Pen  greatly  wished  to  say:  "Well  don't  forget  us," 
or  something  of  the  sort,  light  and  friendly,  but  she 
could  not  get  the  words  out. 

And  of  course  he  took  her  silence  to  mean  it  was 
all  one  to  her  whether  he  went  or  stayed. 

But  he  could  not  go  like  that.  He  hung  indecisively 
at  the  door  of  the  room.  Finally  he  blurted  out  like 
a  boy: 

"I  say,  what's  the  matter?" 


36  Ramshackle  House 

"Why,  nothing!"  answered  Pen  with  a  startled  look. 

"This  afternoon  we  were  like  pals.  .  .  .  What  have 
I  done  to  offend  you?" 

"Nothing  whatever,"  said  Pen. 

"Oh,"  he  said  sorely,  "then  it's  just  that  you  don't 
fancy  my  style  much  anyhow." 

"Oh,  I  wouldn't  say  that!"  said  Pen  with  a  teasing 
smile.  Heaven  knows  what  it  cost  her. 

"I  quite  understand,"  he  said  with  a  man's  absurd 
injured  vanity. 

"You  understand  nothing!"  murmured  Pen. 

He  moved  to  the  front  door,  and  failed  to  hear  her. 
For  a  moment  or  two  they  looked  unhappily  out  at 
the  night.  The  moon  had  risen  behind  the  house  and 
was  casting  long  shadows  athwart  the  lawn.  Beyond 
the  edge  of  the  bank  there  was  a  mystical  sea  of  sub- 
dued radiance. 

"Well  .  .  .  good-night  .  .  .  good-by,"  he  mum- 
bled. "Thank  you  so  much  for  your  kindness  .  .  . 
good-by." 

"My  kindness!"  Pen's  heart  cried.  "Good-by," 
she  said  aloud,  without  a  suspicion  of  a  shake  or  a 
tremor.  "Father  is  in  the  dining-room." 

"Please  say  good-night  to  him  for  me,"  he  said  hur- 
riedly .  .  .  "Good-by."  He  held  out  his  hand. 

"Good-by,"  said  Pen,  letting  her  cold  fingers  lie 
within  his  for  a  moment  without  any  response  to  his 
pressure. 

He  went  slowly  across  the  front  porch  and  stepped 
down.  She  closed  the  door.  She  stood  there,  her  arms 
hanging.  Her  thoughts  were  like  a  dialogue  back  and 
forth  within  her. 


The  Canoeist  37 

"He  didn't  want  to  go.  Why  did  you  send  him? 
.  .  .  But  what  did  he  want  to  stay  for?  Just  a  sum- 
mer night's  flirtation.  That  would  have  finished  me. 
It's  better  this  way  .  .  .  Maybe  he  meant  it  ... 
No  I  That  sort  of  happiness  is  not  for  me !  Might  as 
well  get  used  to  it  soon  as  late!  .  .  .  I'm  not  going  to 
run  upstairs  and  cry,  either!  There  are  the  chickens 
to  fasten  up,  the  yeast  to  make  and  the  milk  to  set 
out!"  Her  arms  went  up  above  her  head  and  fell 
again.  "Oh  God!  but  life  is  dreary!" 

From  the  dining-room  her  father  called  her  in  a 
strange,  agitated  voice  that  sent  the  blood  flying  from 
her  heart: 

"Pen!     Pen!     Come  here,  quickly!" 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   STORY  IN  THE    SUN-PAPER 

WHEN  Pen  ran  into  the  dining-room  she  found 
the  little  man  seated  at  the  table,  his  reading 
glasses  on  his  nose  and  the  newspaper  spread  before 
him.  The  face  that  he  raised  to  her  was  pale  and 
moist  with  excitement;  his  hands  gripping  the  edge  of 
the  paper  made  it  rattle  with  their  trembling.  Never- 
theless in  her  first  glance  Pen  was  assured  that  no  dis- 
aster threatened  their  house.  There  was  even  a  sort 
of  pleasure  mixed  with  his  horror.  Her  first  reaction 
was  to  chagrin  at  having  been  frightened  for  nothing. 

"What's  the  matter?"  she  asked  sharply. 

"Look!    Look!"   he  said,  pointing  to  the  paper. 

With  her  own  swift,  swimming  motion  she  moved 
behind  him,  and  looked  down  over  his  shoulder.  She 
read  staring  headlines: 

WEALTHY  NEW  YORK  STOCKBROKER  FOUND  MURDERED 

She  was  freshly  annoyed  by  what  seemed  to  be  such 
ridiculous  excitement.  "What's  that  got  to  do  with 
you?"  she  demanded. 

"Read!     Read!"   he  said  hoarsely. 

She  impatiently  read  what  was  under  the  headlines: 

"Collis  Dongan  of  the  old  New  York  family,  wealthy 
clubman  and  member  of  the  Stock  Exchange,  was 
found  dead  in  his  apartment  last  night.  Mr.  Dongan, 

38 


The  Story  in  the  Sw«-Paper        39 

a  widower  without  children  resided  at  the  exclusive 
Hotel  Warrington.  The  body  was  found  by  his  valet 
George  Canfield  who  had  been  away  on  a  vacation 
granted  him  by  his  master  over  the  holiday.  The  re- 
volver with  which  the  deed  was  done  was  found  lying 
near,  and  at  first  it  was  supposed  to  be  a  case  of  sui- 
cide. But  Doctor  Raymond  Morsell  the  hotel  phy- 
sician who  was  quickly  summoned  by  the  frightened 
servant,  instantly  pronounced  that  the  wound  could  not 
have  been  self-inflicted.  The  bullet  had  entered  the 
base  of  the  skull.  The  body  was  found  lying  in  Mr. 
Dongan's  living-room.  It  was  fully  clothed.  There 
were  no  signs  of  any  struggle.  Every  indication  point- 
ed to  the  fact  that  he  had  been  shot  down  from  be- 
hind without  warning.  Apparently  he  had  been  dead 
three  days.  His  blood  was  matted  and  dried  in  the 
rug  on  which  he  lay." 

Pen  looked  up  in  disgust.  "What  do  you  want  me 
to  read  this  horrible  stuff  for?"  she  asked.  "It's  like 
all  the  other  cases."  .  „„-  -\ 

"Read  on !"  said  her  father. 

"After  having  summoned  the  doctor,  the  valet's 
next  thought  was  to  notify  the  dead  man's  partner 
Donald  Counsell  who  occupied  an  apartment  on  the 
same  floor  in  another  part  of  the  hotel.  .  .  ." 

Pen  read  this  name  without  any  sensation  beyond  a 
sudden  quickening  of  interest.  She  needed  no  further 
urging  to  read  on. 

".  .  .  but  Counsell  was  not  found  in  the  hotel.  De- 
velopments followed  fast  after  that.  The  valet,  Can- 
field,  remembered  that  when  he  left  his  master  on  Fri- 
day night  Counsell  was  with  him,  and  the  two  men 


40  Ramshackle  House 

were  quarrelling,  apparently  over  business  matters. 
He  heard  Counsell,  who  is  a  young  man,  violently  abus- 
ing his  senior.  Dongan  was  not  seen  alive  after  that. 
Various  persons  living  in  the  hotel  testified  to  having 
heard  a  muffled  sound  which  might  have  been  a  shot 
at  11.15  Friday  night.  At  11.20  the  night  clerk  saw 
Counsell  leaving  the  hotel,  clearly  in  a  state  of  agita- 
tion. 

"The  dead  man's  brother,  Richard  H.  Dongan,  vice- 
president  of  the  Barrow  Trust  Company,  was  notified, 
and  at  his  suggestion  a  hasty  search  of  the  books  of 
Dongan  and  Counsell  was  conducted  for  the  purpose 
of  establishing  a  possible  motive  for  the  crime.  The 
firm  was  found  to  be  heavily  involved  owing  to  cer- 
tain speculations  of  the  junior  partner  on  the  exchange. 
By  the  break  in  Union  Central  last  week  Counsell 
stood  to  lose  seventy-five  thousand  dollars,  which  ap- 
parently he  had  no  means  of  raising.  It  is  supposed 
that  he  appealed  to  his  partner  for  help,  and  upon 
being  indignantly  refused,  shot  the  elder  man.  The 
case  against  Counsell  was  made  complete  when  Thomas 
Dittmars  bookkeeper  to  Dongan  and  Counsell  reluct- 
antly identified  the  revolver  as  one  belonging  to  Coun- 
sell, and  pointed  out  Counsell's  initials  scratched  on 
the  butt.  The  bookkeeper  knew  the  weapon  because 
more  than  once  it  had  been  loaned  to  him  when  he  had 
a  large  amount  of  Liberty  bonds  to  deliver  for  the  firm. 
Dittmars  knew  nothing  of  the  transactions  in  Union 
Central  because  they  were  entered  in  the  firm's  private 
ledger  to  which  only  the  partners  had  access.  No  trace 
of  Counsell  has  been  discovered  since  he  left  the  hotel.'* 

Thus  far  the  summary  of  facts  which  heads  all  news- 


The  Story  in  the  Sww-Paper        41 

paper  stories.  Several  columns  of  comment  and  hy- 
pothesis followed: 

"On  the  face  of  it  it  is  one  of  the  most  dastardly 
crimes  in  recent  years.  Dongan  befriended  the  young 
man  upon  his  graduation  from  college  and  admitted 
him  to  a  partnership  in  his  business  only  to  be  swindled 
and  finally  to  be  shot  down  by  his  protege." 

Pen  for  the  moment  disregarded  what  followed. 
She  had  to  stop  and  think,  she  would  have  said,  but 
as  a  matter  of  fact  she  was  incapable  of  thinking.  She 
was  conscious  only  of  a  dull  horror  that  numbed  her 
faculties.  She  had  not  yet  taken  it  in.  Outwardly 
she  was  quite  composed.  With  the  palm  of  her  hand 
she  thoughtfully  polished  a  dull  spot  on  the  velvety 
surface  of  the  table. 

Pendleton  fairly  babbled  in  his  excitement.  "When 
I  first  read  the  story  he  was  in  the  drawing-room  with 
you.  I  didn't  know  what  to  do !  I  didn't  know  what 
to  do  I" 

Pen  was  sharply  recalled  to  the  necessity  for  action. 
"Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do?"  she  asked  quietly. 

"My  duty,"  said  the  little  man  swelling  a  little. 

"Inform  against  him?" 

"Inform?  What  a  word  to  use!"  said  Pendleton 
with  asperity.  "I  mean  to  give  him  up  to  justice  as  he 
richly  deserves." 

"But  he  didn't  do  it,"  said  Pen  with  an  odd,  detached 
air.  The  words  came  out  of  her  involuntarily. 

Pendleton  stared.     "How  do  you  know?" 

"By  instinct,"  she  said  simply. 

"Fiddlesticks!"  said  Pendleton.  "You  read  the 
paper,  didn't  you?" 


42  Ramshackle  House 

Pen  merely  smiled  the  smile  that  women  use  when 
they  decline  to  argue  with  a  man.  It  is  very  exasperat- 
ing to  a  man. 

"You  have  seen  the  man  once  and  exchanged  a  few 
pleasantries  with  him!"  he  cried.  "Do  you  presume 
to  decide  from  that  whether  or  not  he  is  capable  of 
murder?" 

"I  suppose  he  could  shoot  a  man — with  sufficient 
provocation,"  she  said  coolly.  "Any  man  could  I  sup- 
pose .  .  .  But  not  like  that.  Not  in  the  back!" 

Pendleton  flung  up  his  hands.  "Isn't  that  like  a 
woman!  Just  because  he  has  fine  eyes  I  suppose,  and 
a  taking  smile  I" 

It  never  reached  Pen  who  was  busy  with  her  own 
thoughts.  She  knew  in  her  heart  without  reason,  with- 
out arguments  that  the  charge  was  false,  but  she  was 
searching  for  reasons  that  would  convince  a  man.  Her 
instinct  led  her  unerringly  to  the  weak  spots  of  the  case 
against  Counsell. 

"Why  should  he  leave  his  pistol  behind  to  convict 
him?"  she  asked.  "Why  should  he  introduce  himself 
to  us  under  his  right  name?" 

Pendleton  waved  this  impatiently  aside.  "Oh,  they 
always  make  some  slips.  That's  how  they're  caught. 
From  the  first  I  felt  there  was  something  funny  about 
him." 

"It  was  you  who  first  asked  him  to  stay,"  said  Pen 
indignantly. 

"Yes.  But  I  didn't  expect  the  house  to  be  turned  up- 
side down  to  entertain  him,"  he  retorted.  "Something 
funny  about  him,  skulking  down  the  Bay  like  that.  You 
remember  how  he  said  he  preferred  to  be  alone." 


The  Story  in  the  Sw«-Paper        43 

"There's  nothing  criminal  in  that  I" 

"I  don't  know.  Very  strange  he  should  slink  out 
of  the  house  without  saying  good-night  to  me.  Per- 
haps he  saw  me  reading  the  paper." 

Pen  all  but  wrung  her  hands.  This  was  men's 
boasted  logic.  How  could  an  intelligent  person  cope 
with  it? 

The  little  man  got  up  with  an  important  air. 

"Don't  act  in  haste,  Dad,"  Pen  pleaded  earnestly. 
"Something  tells  me  you  will  regret  it.  At  least  sleep 
on  it!" 

"He  will  be  gone  in  the  morning,"  Pendleton  said. 
A  look  of  dismay  appeared  in  his  face.  "Good  Heav- 
ens !  If  he  suspects  anything  he  will«push  off  at  once  I" 

"Would  you  be  sorry?"  Pen  asked  astonished. 

Pendleton  was  momentarily  disconcerted.  "Well 
no  ...  of  course  not.  But  I  must  do  my  duty  just 
the  same  .  .  .  This  is  an  important  case.  I  must 
act  with  prudence.  The  eyes  of  the  world  will  be  upon 
us  now." 

"Oh,  the  newspapers!"  cried  Pen.  "They  poison 
our  lives!" 

Pendleton  was  already  at  the  door  of  the  room. 
"Are  you  going  to  take  him  single-handed?"  queried 
Pen. 

He  hesitated,  puffing  a  little  bit  to  conceal  his  dis- 
composure. "The  negroes  .  .  ."  he  hazarded. 

"Ellick  and  Theodo' !"  said  Pen  with  curling  lip. 

Pendleton  rubbed  his  bald  crown.  "You're  right" 
he  said.  "Worse  than  useless.  I'll  go  to  the  light- 
house for  Weems  Locket  and  his  assistant." 

"You'll  have  to  pass  the  tent  on  the  beach." 


44  Ramshackle  House 

"I'll  row  around  in  my  skiff,"  said  Pendleton  craftily. 

"With  muffled  oars?"  she  asked  scornfully. 

"Why  yes,"  he  said  innocently.  He  was  impervious 
to  her  scorn. 

"Dad,  you  must  listen  to  me !"  she  cried. 

"This  is  man's  work,"  he  said,  swelling  up.  "You 
must  leave  it  to  me." 

A  sick  horror  overcame  her,  that  men  were  so  in- 
sensible to  the  truth.  What  could  one  do  with  them? 
It  was  evident  from  the  whole  tone  of  the  story  she 
had  read  that  men  had  already  made  up  their  minds 
as  to  Counsell's  guilt.  Let  one  of  them  raise  the  cry 
and  all  were  ready  to  give  tongue  as  thoughtlessly  as 
a  pack  of  hounds.  It  was  not  the  desire  for  justice 
that  moved  them  but  a  sort  of  blood  lust.  They  would 
try  him  with  all  their  solemn  farcical  forms  of  jus- 
tice, but  none  the  less  he  would  be  railroaded  to  a 
shameful  death! 

"Dad  I  You  mustn't.  You  don't  know  what  you're 
doing!"  she  murmured,  swaying. 

He  stared  his  displeasure.  "Pendleton,  is  it  possible 
that  you  .  .  .  that  this  young  man  .  .  ." 

She  contrived  some  sort  of  a  laugh.  "What  non- 
sense!" 

He  turned  out  of  the  door  saying:  "I  must  act  at 
once." 

Pen  gasped:  "Dad!"  and  keeled  over  on  a  chair. 
The  swoon  was  perfectly  genuine,  but  she  lost  con- 
sciousness only  for  the  space  of  a  breath,  and  there- 
after her  wits  worked  with  the  swiftness  of  despera- 
tion. He  was  deaf  to  truth,  to  reason,  to  sense,  very 
well  then,  she  must  use  a  woman's  weapons  against 


The  Story  in  the  Sww-Paper        45 

him.  It  was  Pendleton's  transports  of  distress  that 
gave  her  her  cue. 

"Penny,  Penny,  my  child!"  he  was  crying  wildly. 

Pen's  mother  had  died  a  young  woman  of  a  heart 
attack,  and  the  fear  that  Pen  might  have  inherited  her 
weakness  was  ever  present  in  the  good,  absurd  little 
man's  breast.  It  was  Pen's  final  weapon.  Be  it  said 
to  her  credit  she  had  never  used  it  before.  She  put 
her  hand  to  her  breast  without  speaking. 

"Oh,  my  child!  Look  at  me!  Speak  to  me!"  he 
implored. 

"Help  me  to  my  room!"  she  whispered. 

He  made  a  manful  attempt  to  pick  her  up  in  his 
arms,  but  she  was  as  big  as  he.  He  could  not  lift  her. 

"What  shall  I  do!"  he  wailed,  wringing  his  hands. 

"I  can  walk,"  she  said.     "If  you  will  help  me." 

"But  the  stairs!" 

"Let  me  lie  down  in  the  drawing-room  until  I  feel 
better." 

He  helped  her  across  the  hall  and  Pen  sank  down 
on  the  old  linen-covered  sofa  with  the  broken  springs. 
She  was  still  pressing  her  hand  to  her  breast  in  that 
mute  gesture  that  drove  him  to  distraction.  In  truth 
she  was  pale  enough,  but  it  was  not  from  heart  disease. 

He  made  her  as  comfortable  as  he  could;  he  brought 
her  a  glass  of  water.  He  scampered  back  into  the 
hall  to  call  up  the  doctor.  After  agitated  appeals  to 
other  subscribers  to  get  off  the  line  he  finally  got  Doc- 
tor Hance  on  Absolom's  Island.  But  evidently  the 
doctor  declined  to  make  the  long  drive  around  the  head 
of  the  creeks  and  down  the  impassable  Neck  road. 
Pendleton  must  come  for  him  in  his  boat  he  said.  In 


46  Ramshackle  House 

vain  the  distracted  father  pleaded  that  he  could  not 
leave  his  child;  the  doctor  was  firm. 

Finally  Pendleton  said:  "Very  well,  I'll  come  at 
once.  Wait  for  me  on  the  steamboat  dock." 

Pen's  breast  became  easier.  This  plan  suited  her 
very  well. 

Crying  that  he  was  going  to  get  Aunt  Maria  Garner, 
he  ran  out  of  the  house.  The  negro  cabin  was  some 
three  hundred  yards  behind  the  big  house. 

Pen  used  the  interim  to  get  her  thoughts  in  some 
kind  of  order.  She  began  to  be  conscious  of  a  sort  of 
exaltation.  Her  thoughts  ran:  "He's  in  trouble!  I 
shall  not  lose  him  now  1  ...  Every  man's  hand  is  raised 
against  him.  He  has  no  one  but  me  to  depend  on. 
He's  mine!"  There  was  a  terrible  joy  in  the  thought 
of  standing  side  by  side  with  him  against  the  whole 
world.  Her  breast  burned  with  a  fire  of  resolution. 
She  even  had  a  fleeting  regret  that  he  was  not  guilty; 
if  he  had  been  it  would  have  required  her  to  give  so 
much  more.  "I  love  him!  I  love  him!"  she  said  to 
herself  now  without  shame. 

Pendleton  returned  with  Aunt  Maria.  Pen  was 
aware  of  Ellick's  and  Theodo's  black  faces  peering 
in  at  the  windows.  This  interfered  with  her  plans. 

"Send  them  away,"  she  murmured.  "There  is  noth- 
ing they  can  do." 

Aunt  Maria  went  out  on  the  porch  and  shooed  her 
sons  home. 

Coming  back  the  big  negress  picked  Pen  up  with- 
out more  ado  and  carried  her  up  the  stairs.  Aunt 
Maria  had  been  the  first  person  in  the  world  to  re- 
ceive Pen  into  her  arms,  and  appeared  to  be  uncon- 


The  Story  in  the  Sww-Paper        47 

scious  of  any  increase  in  her  darling's  weight.  Pen- 
dleton  fluttered  about  her  like  a  hen  crying  at  every 
step: 

"Be  careful !    Oh,  be  careful !" 

Aunt  Maria  laid  Pen  down  on  her  bed. 

In  the  midst  of  his  passionate  solicitude,  a  queer  lit- 
tle suspicion  flickered  up  in  Pendleton's  eyes.  "While 
I  am  gone  for  the  doctor  don't  let  her  exert  herself  in 
the  slightest,"  she  commanded. 

Aunt  Maria  reassured  him  and  he  hastened  out  of 
the  house. 

The  instant  the  front  door  closed  behind  him  Pen 
sat  up  in  bed,  and  felt  of  her  hair.  Aunt  Maria  took 
it  as  a  matter  of  course.  Unlettered  though  she  might 
be,  she  had  a  fully-developed  set  of  instincts ;  she  knew 
that  all  sorts  of  expedients  were  required  to  manage 
those  unreasonable  creatures,  men,  and  she  awaited 
the  explanation  with  an  air  of  being  surprised  at  noth- 
ing and  ready  for  anything. 

"I've  got  to  go  out,"  said  Pen,  exchanging  her  even- 
ing slippers  for  a  pair  of  rubber-soled  sneakers. 

Aunt  Maria  looked  rather  dubious. 

Pen  saw  that  she  would  win  her  more  securely  by 
appealing  to  her  sense  of  romance.  She  began:  "That 
young  man  who  had  lunch  and  dinner  with  us  .  .  ." 

Aunt  Maria's  broad  face  softened  and  her  eyes 
rolled  zestfully. 

"There  is  a  story  in  the  paper  accusing  him  of  mur- 
der!" 

It  was  not  what  Aunt  Maria  expected.  Her  chin 
dropped,  and  her  eyes  almost  started  from  her  head. 
*'Bless  God  I"  she  murmured. 


48  Ramshackle  House 

"Father  means  to  give  him  up.  So  I'm  going  down 
to  warn  him." 

In  Aunt  Maria  fear  overcame  romance.  "Honey 
.  .  .  honey!"  she  stammered.  "Doan  yo'  go  down 
there !  Doan  yo'  take  no  chances !  If  he's  a  bad  man 
he'll  hurt  yo'  1" 

"A  bad  man  I"  cried  Pen  with  shining  eyes.  "Aunt 
Maria  where  were  your  eyes!" 

The  old  negress  was  awed  by  that  light  in  her  child's 
eyes.  "Well  .  .  .  well  .  .  ."  she  murmured,  "he  sho 
was  a  pretty  young  man!" 

Seizing  a  sweater  to  cover  her  bare  arms  and  neck, 
Pen  ran  out  of  the  room  and  down  the  stairs.  Aunt 
Maria  sat  down  muttering  and  shaking  her  head. 

Softly  closing  the  big  door  behind  her,  Pen  sped 
over  the  weedy  drive.  The  main  gate  to  the  grounds 
was  in  the  side  fence  near  the  edge  of  the  bank.  Half 
of  it  hung  askew  on  one  hinge  and  the  other  half  lay 
rotting  on  the  earth.  Outside  the  gate  there  was  a 
grassy  road  which  made  a  right-angled  turn  there. 
In  one  direction  it  ran  back  between  the  fields  and  on 
up  the  Neck;  in  the  other  it  went  straight  ahead  along 
the  edge  of  the  bank  and  presently  descended  to  the 
old  steamboat  wharf  on  the  property.  So  swift  had 
Pen  been  that  her  father  was  still  in  sight,  his  lantern 
jogging  agitatedly  down  the  road  in  front  of  her.  He 
always  carried  a  lantern  irrespective  of  the  moon.  She 
slackened  her  pace. 

The  road  ran  gently  down  a  natural  fault  in  the 
high  bank.  The  earth  was  powdered  with  silver  dust; 
a  mocking-bird  sang  its  casual  and  thrilling  song  near- 
by, and  farther  off  whip-poor-wills.  The  bushes  that 


The  Story  in  the  /Sww-Paper        49 

rose  between  the  road  and  the  edge  of  the  bank  were 
festooned  with  the  vines  of  the  wild  grape.  It  was 
the  moment  of  its  flowering  and  in  this  place  its  strange, 
poignant  fragrance  drowned  the  honeysuckle.  In  after 
life  Pen  never  smelled  that  scent  without  living  this 
night  over.  She  was  quite  collected  now.  Terror,  anx- 
iety, shame  and  such  feelings  had  been  burned  up  by 
her  great  determination. 

The  road  ended  before  the  dilapidated  wharf  where 
no  steamer  had  tied  up  for  many  years  past.  Pen- 
dleton's  skiff  was  drawn  up  on  the  sand  alongside,  and 
the  Pee  Bee  anchored  a  hundred  feet  out  in  the  stream. 
Pen  hung  back  in  the  shadows  until  her  father  should 
get  away.  Off  to  the  left  where  the  white  beach  curved 
beautifully  out  to  the  point  she  saw  Counsell's  little 
tent  pitched  in  the  sand  with  a  fire  burning  before  it, 
and  the  dark  canoe  drawn  up.  Off  the  end  of  the  point 
the  spidery  lighthouse  fixed  her  with  the  baleful  glare 
rf  its  red  eye. 

Pendleton  pushed  off  to  his  motor-boat  with  an 
amount  of  caution  absurd  under  the  circumstances,  for 
as  soon  as  he  turned  over  the  engine  she  exploded  like 
a  gun.  This  time  there  was  no  hesitation  in  the  Pee 
Bee;  she  moved  off  at  once  with  her  usual  violence^ 
shattering  the  night.  Pen,  watching  the  tent  saw 
Counsell  come  out  and  look  in  the  direction  of  the 
sound.  But  presently  he  went  back  again. 

As  soon  as  it  was  safe  to  do  so,  she  picked  her  way 
out  over  the  broken  floor  of  the  wharf.  The  piles 
were  gnawed  and  broken,  and  the  pushing  of  the  ice 
during  many  seasons  had  given  the  whole  structure 
a  rakish  cant  towards  the  Bay.  Pen  dropped  over  the 


5O  Ramshackle  House 

side  into  an  inch  or  two  of  water  and  gingerly  picked 
her  way  towards  the  tent. 

It  was  a  little  lean-to  tent  open  to  the  fire  in  front, 
but  with  a  mosquito  curtain  hanging  down.  He  heard 
her  splashing  towards  him  and  came  out.  He  must 
have  been  sitting  there  looking  at  the  fire  and  smoking. 
His  pipe  was  still  between  his  teeth.  He  stared  at 
her  as  at  a  ghost  without  making  a  sound.  His  body 
had  a  tense  look.  She  could  not  read  his  face  because 
the  moon  was  behind  him.  Its  light  was  strong  in  her 
face. 

"It  is  I,  Miss  Broome,"  she  said  in  her  direct  way. 

He  seemed  to  come  to  life.  "You  I"  he  cried  in  a 
voice  of  delight.  He  laughed  shakily.  "I  thought 
.  .  .  how  foolish  of  me  ...  I  was  thinking  of  you 
...  I  thought  .  .  ."  He  seemed  unable  to  go  on. 

"I  came  through  the  water  to  avoid  making  tracks  in 
the  sand." 

"I  understand  I"  he  said  eagerly.  "I'll  carry  you 
ashore." 

Pen  stamped  her  foot  in  the  water.  "You  don't  un- 
derstand! Stay  where  you  are  and  I'll  tell  you!" 

"There's  nothing  wrong  is  there?"  he  asked  anx- 
iously. "I  heard  the  motor-boat  start  off." 

"Wrong  enough,"  said  Pen  simply.  Since  nothing 
was  to  be  gained  by  beating  around  the  bush,  she 
blurted  out  the  truth.  "Collis  Dongan  has  been  found 
shot  dead  in  his  rooms,  and  you  are  accused  of  having 
done  it." 

"What!"  he  cried  with  so  perfect  an  expression  of 
astonishment  that  Pen's  breast  was  warmed  and  com- 
forted. No  guilty  man  could  possibly  have  simulated 


The  Story  in  the  Sun-Paper        51 

that  look.  She  had  not  doubted  him,  nevertheless  it 
was  sweet  to  be  reassured.  The  tears  sprang  to  her 
eyes;  she  hung  her  head  to  hide  them.  He  did  not  no- 
tice them.  He  was  dazed. 

"Collis  Dongan  deadl"  he  muttered.  "When  .  .  . 
How?" 

She  told  the  main  facts  of  the  story  slowly,  distinctly 
as  to  a  stupid  person. 

"Good  God!  how  terrible!"  he  muttered.  "How 
quick  can  I  get  back  to  New  York?  It  was  suicide  of 
course.  He  had  cause  enough." 

"What  cause?"  Pen  asked  quickly. 

"He  had  swindled  and  betrayed  me,"  Counsell  said 
bitterly.  "And  I  found  him  out  .  .  .  But  he's  dead! 
I'm  sorry  now  for  the  things  I  said  to  him!"  His 
thoughts  flew  off  at  a  tangent.  "But  how  is  it  you 
came  to  tell  me  .  .  .  and  like  this?"  He  was  look- 
ing at  her  submerged  feet. 

"My  father  feels  it  his  duty  to  give  you  up,"  said 
Pen.  "I  gained  a  little  time  by  making  believe  to  be 
ill.  He  will  be  here  later  with  other  men." 

"Well,  that's  all  right,"  said  Counsell.  "It's  all  got 
to  be  sifted  to  the  bottom  of  course.  They  can't  have 
any  case  against  me." 

"They  have  a  complete  case  against  you,"  said  Pen. 
"And  don't  you  see,  they  think  you  ran  away."  She 
gave  him  the  points  of  the  evidence  against  him. 

"That's  bad,"  he  said  gravely.  "My  revolver,  eh? 
I  had  lost  it!  ...  But  you  didn't  believe  it!"  he 
cried  warmly. 

"I'm  not  a  man,"  said  Pen  simply. 

"Anyhow,  it  doesn't  alter  things,"  he  said.     "I've 


52  Ramshackle  House 

got  to  go  back.  They  couldn't  send  an  innocent  man 
to  the  chair." 

Pen  clasped  her  hands  in  a  sort  of  despair.  Another 
obstinate  man  to  be  argued  with !  "They  could !  They 
could!"  she  cried.  "You  don't  understand.  I  couldn't 
bring  the  paper  to  you  because  it  would  have  been 
missed.  But  you  must  read  it  later.  Then  you'll  see. 
My  father  is  just  like  other  men.  They  all  seem  to 
act  in  a  herd.  They  have  made  up  their  minds  that 
you  did  it.  They  are  determined  you  sha'n't  escape. 
Your  trial  would  be  a  mockery." 

He  was  impressed  by  her  earnestness.  "Just  the 
same  ...  I  couldn't  run,"  he  said  slowly. 

"You  mustn't  do  anything  on  impulse,"  Pen  urged. 
"You  must  read  the  newspaper  and  find  out  where  you 
stand.  You  must  give  yourself  up  if  you  so  decide, 
but  not  allow  yourself  to  be  caught." 

He  seemed  to  be  convinced,  but  he  did  not  take  the 
matter  seriously  enough  to  suit  Pen.  He  seemed  to 
be  thinking  more  of  her  than  of  his  own  situation.  He 
took  a  step  nearer  to  her. 

"How  fine  of  you  to  come  to  warn  me  I"  he  said 
warmly. 

Pen  retreated  into  deeper  water.  "Please!"  she 
said  sharply.  "There  is  not  an  instant  to  lose!" 

"But  if  I've  got  to  go  ...  I  must  thank  you,"  he 
said. 

It  was  not  part  of  Pen's  plan  to  let  him  go,  but  not 
wishing  to  provoke  another  argument,  she  let  the 
words  pass  for  the  moment. 

"Anyhow,  come  out  of  the  water,"  he  pleaded. 
"Your  feet  must  be  chilled  through. 


The  Story  in  the  £#w-Paper        53 

He  put  down  a  paddle  at  the  edge  of  the  water  and 
Pen  stepped  out  on  it.  He  looked  at  her  longingly. 

"Hurry!     Hurry!"    Pen  said. 

With  a  sigh  he  commenced  to  pull  up  the  pegs  that 
fastened  down  his  tent. 

It  was  soon  bundled  into  the  canoe  together  with 
his  grub-box,  his  valise,  and  the  odds  and  ends  of  his 
baggage. 

"Get  in,"  he  said.  "I'll  paddle  you  back  to  the 
wharf." 

Pen  sat  down  in  the  bottom  of  the  canoe  while  he 
perched  on  the  stern  seat  wielding  the  paddle  with  the 
easy  grace  of  long  custom.  She  watched  him  through 
her  lashes.  The  moon  was  behind  him,  silhouetting 
his  strong  frame  and  making  a  sort  of  aureole  about 
his  bare  head. 

The  tide  was  high  and  the  water  had  risen  to  within 
three  feet  of  the  floor  of  the  wharf.  Pen  climbed  out 
upon  it. 

"Well,  is  this  good-by?"  he  said  dolefully. 

"No,"  said  Pen  breathlessly.  Her  instinct  told  her 
there  was  another  struggle  of  wills  ahead.  "You're 
not  going.  I'm  going  to  keep  you  here." 

"What!"  he  cried.  "Oh,  if  you  knew  how  you 
tempted  me !" 

"Tempt  you!"  she  said  crossly.  "This  is  no  time 
for  sentiment!" 

"I  couldn't  let  you,"  he  said  firmly. 

"Where  could  you  go?"  she  demanded. 

"I'll  manage  to  keep  out  of  sight" 

"There  is  no  place  you  could  go!"  she  insisted. 
"The  iSwH-paper  is  read  on  the  remotest  creeks.  Do 


54  Ramshackle  House 

you  realize  what  a  hue  and  cry  will  be  raised  in  the 
morning?  Fifty  boats  will  be  out  searching  the  river, 
the  bay,  the  creeks.  How  could  you  hope  to  escape? 
Where  would  you  get  food  and  fresh  water?" 

"I'll  find  a  way,"  he  said  stubbornly.  "I'm  going 
back  to  New  York." 

"Stay  here!"  she  pleaded. 

"I  couldn't !  What  would  you  think  of  a  man  who 
unloaded  all  his  troubles  on  a  woman  like  that?" 

"What  would  I  think  of  him?"  Pen  was  on  her 
knees  at  the  edge  of  the  wharf  reaching  down  for  his 
things.  The  moonlight  was  in  her  face.  She  suddenly 
smiled  at  him  in  an  oddly  tender,  an  indulgent  sort 
of  way.  "Don't  be  silly!"  she  said  brusquely.  "Hand 
me  up  that  valise." 

The  advantage  was  all  with  her  now.  His  man's 
pride  was  hardly  strong  enough  to  tear  him  away  from 
her.  He  passed  up  the  valise. 

"I'll  find  some  way  to  square  the  account,"  he 
grumbled. 

Pen  smiled  still. 

"What  will  we  do  with  the  canoe?"  he  asked,  when 
their  cargo  was  unloaded  on  the  wharf. 

"Sink  it  in  deep  water  at  the  end  of  the  wharf,"  she 
said. 

"Good !  I'll  empty  my  clothes  out  and  fill  the  valise 
with  stones." 

"Such  a  good  valise,"  objected  the  prudent  Pen. 
"Couldn't  you  just  load  the  stones  in  the  canoe?" 

"No.  She'd  roll  them  out  and  come  to  the  top.  I 
can  tie  the  valise  to  a  thwart." 


The  Story  in  the  £««-Paper        55 

How  Pen  loved  to  have  him  talk  to  her  offhand 
as  to  another  man! 

While  he  was  attending  to  the  canoe  Pen  busied  her- 
self dividing  his  belongings  into  two  equal  lots  to  carry 
up  the  hill.  Her  eyes  ever  glancing  in  the  direction  of 
the  Island  finally  saw  a  tiny  red  and  a  green  eye  turn  on 
them  from  afar. 

"They've  started  back,"  she  said  quietly.  "We'll 
have  to  carry  everything  in  one  trip." 

"Oh,  throw  everything  overboard  that  will  sink." 

"You'll  need  it." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  me?" 

"Hide  you  in  the  woods." 

Presently  the  put-put  of  the  noisy  little  boat  came  to 
them  across  the  water. 

"No  time  to  lose!" 

When  Counsell  came  to  her  he  coolly  appropriated 
half  her  load.  They  wasted  a  good  minute  quarreling 
over  it.  Pen  was  not  accustomed  to  having  her  will 
opposed  by  a  man.  Her  undisputed  sway  at  Broome's 
Point  had  made  her  a  little  too  autocratic  perhaps.  A 
hot  little  flame  of  anger  shot  up  in  her  breast.  When 
she  became  angry  Counsell  laughed  delightedly.  This 
was  outrageous.  Nevertheless  she  liked  it.  •  She  found 
a  curious  pleasure  in  giving  in  to  him,  and  meekly  ac- 
cepted what  he  said  she  might  carry.  "What  is  hap- 
pening to  me?"  she  asked  herself  for  the  dozenth  time 
that  day. 

They  plodded  up  the  hill  under  their  loads,  Pen  in 
advance.  Their  shadows  marched  before  them.  The 
whole  earth  was  held  in  a  spell  of  moonlight  and  the 
perfume  of  the  wild  grape.  It  sharpened  their  senses 


56  Ramshackle  House 

intolerably.  Life  seemed  almost  too  much  to  be  borne. 
Neither  could  speak.  Once  Counsell  bending  under 
the  weight  of  his  pack,  mutely  put  his  hand  forward 
and  groped  for  hers. 

"Don't!     Don't!"  she  said  painfully. 

"Oh,  Pen  I"  he  murmured. 

As  they  progressed  along  the  top  of  the  bank  the 
motor-boat  was  completing  her  journey  below  them. 
They  could  glimpse  the  boat  through  the  interstices  of 
the  bushes,  but  those  in  the  boat  could  not  have  seen 
them. 

"We  must  hurry,"  said  Pen.  "They  must  see  al- 
ready that  your  tent  is  gone." 

Reaching  the  tenant  cottage  outside  the  grounds 
Pen  said :  "We  could  save  time  by  cutting  across  here, 
but  we'd  leave  a  wide  open  track  through  the  wet 
weeds.  We'll  have  to  go  around." 

They  followed  the  road  to  the  broken  gate,  and 
making  the  turn,  kept  along  outside  the  fence  until 
they  got  well  in  the  rear  of  the  cottage.  Here  the 
faintly  marked  path  worn  by  Pen  crossed  the  road, 
and  they  turned  into  it.  The  motor-boat  had  come  to 
her  moorings.  Breaking  into  a  sort  of  staggering  run 
under  their  burdens  they  were  soon  received  into  the 
woods. 

"I  must  get  back  to  the  house  before  they  do,"  Pen 
panted. 

The  glade  with  its  tiny  temple  presented  a  scene  of 
unearthly  beauty.  A  shaft  of  moonlight  was  silvering 
the  pale  dome.  The  deep  bowl  below  the  bank  was 
full  to  the  brim  of  moonlight. 


The  Story  in  the  Sun-Paper        57 

A  gasp  of  astonishment  escaped  Counsell.  "What's 
this?" 

"Afraid  of  ghosts?"  asked  Pen. 

"Try  me  I"  he  laughed. 

They  cast  their  burdens  on  the  ground.  There  was 
no  time  for  lengthy  explanations  or  leave-takings. 

"Listen!"  said  Pen.  "Pitch  your  tent  among  the 
bushes  at  the  back  of  the  tomb." 

"I'll  rig  it  from  the  branches,"  he  said.  "Won't  drive 
stakes." 

"Good !  Keep  back  from  the  edge  of  the  bank  dur- 
ing the  day.  A  small  boat  might  come  into  the  pond, 
looking  for  you.  But  no  native  will  come  near  this 
spot.  It's  not  safe  to  build  a  fire.  What  have  you  to 
cat?" 

"Plenty  of  bread,  cooked  meat,  eggs." 

"When  I  come  again  I'll  bring  more.  And  a  little 
oil  stove.  The  water  in  the  pond  is  not  fit  to  drink, 
but  you'll  find  a  spring  at  the  foot  of  the  bank.  Watch 
well  before  you  show  yourself  in  the  open." 

"When  will  you  come  again?"  he  asked  urgently. 

"When  it  is  safe  .   .  .  To-morrow  night  I  think." 

"The  time  will  pass  slowly  until  then,"  he  said  sim- 
ply. He  picked  up  her  hand  and  pressed  it  hard  to 
his  cheek. 

Pen  snatched  away  her  hand  and  fled — fled  from 
she  knew  not  what.  Trying  to  fly  from  the  shatter- 
ing commotion  in  her  breast  perhaps,  which  of  course 
she  carried  with  her. 

As  she  ducked  through  her  own  particular  gap  in  the 
fence  she  could  quite  clearly  hear  the  two  men,  com- 
ing up  the  road  from  the  beach  talking  together  in 


58  Ramshackle  House 

tones  of  chagrin.  She  sped  to  the  house  and  upstairs 
to  her  room.  Aunt  Maria  was  asleep  in  a  chair.  Pea 
awakened  her  with  a  violent  shake,  and  commenced 
to  undress. 

"Quick!  my  night-dress  1"  she  cried.  "Throw  these 
wet  things  into  a  closet.  Remember  to  say  you  put 
me  to  bed  as  soon  as  Dad  went  out  and  we  both  fell 
asleep  1" 

"Bless  God,  honey!  Bless  God!"  repeated  Aunt 
Maria.  Nevertheless  she  bestirred  herself. 

When  the  two  men  knocked  on  the  door  a  sleepy 
voice  bade  them  enter.  All  was  peace  within  the  room. 
Aunt  Maria  struggled  to  her  feet  assiduously  knuckling 
her  eyes;  Pen  lay  in  bed  with  the  bedclothes  to  her 
chin,  her  eyes  languourous  as  if  but  just  opened. 

"You  see,"  said  Doctor  Hance.  "It  is  just  as  I  told 
you.  Everything  is  all  right." 

Pendleton's  feelings  were  mixed.  He  was  relieved, 
and  as  soon  as  he  was  relieved  he  remembered  his 
suspicions.  In  order  to  divert  attention  from  Aunt 
Maria  whose  delineation  of  sleepiness  was  rather  melo- 
dramatic, Pen  smiled  at  her  father  and  murmured  that 
she  felt  better. 

He  looked  at  her  queerly.  He  could  no  longer  con- 
tain his  chagrin.  "He's  gone!"  he  said. 

Pen,  aware  that  the  doctor  was  keenly  observing 
her,  made  her  eyes  wide.  "Gone?"  she  echoed. 
"Where?" 

"Pushed  off  in  his  canoe  somewhere." 

"We'll  get  him  in  the  morning,"  the  doctor  added, 
watching  her  still.  "He  can't  get  far." 

Pen  made  her  face  an  indifferent  blank. 


The  Story  in  the  Sun-Paper        59 

Pendleton  was  sent  out  of  the  room  while  the  doctor 
made  his  examination.  Hance  was  a  frowsy  old  man 
with  a  rough  tongue  and  a  compassionate  irascible  eye. 
Everybody  quarreled  with  him  and  depended  on  him 
as  on  a  tower.  He  had  no  illusions  left  about  man- 
kind, but  he  gave  all  his  strength  to  tending  them. 
Pen  dreaded  being  left  alone  with  him.  However 
he  said  no  more  about  the  escaped  canoeist.  From 
the  character  of  his  grunts  as  he  sounded  her  she  knew 
she  had  not  deceived  him  at  all.  When  the  door 
closed  behind  him  she  flew  to  it  to  hear  what  he  would 
say  to  her  father. 

Pendleton  was  just  outside  the  door.  "Well?"  he 
asked  anxiously. 

"She's  all  right,"  was  the  gruff  reply.  "A  bit  of  a 
shock  maybe.  No  organic  trouble." 

"Hum,"  said  Pendleton,  and  his  thoughts  immedi- 
ately flew  off  to  the  other  matter.  "That  engine  of 
mine  makes  such  a  confounded  racket !  He  must  have 
heard  me  start  off  and  guessed  that  I  was  on  to  him 
and  had  gone  for  help." 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Dr.  Hance  with  a  grim  chuckle. 

They  passed  downstairs. 

Pen  thought  with  a  thankful  heart:  "He's  not  go- 
ing to  give  me  away  I  Blessed  old  manl" 


CHAPTER  III 

AN  IRRUPTION  FROM  THE  WORLD 

AT  all  times  Pen  was  an  early  riser  but  next  morn- 
ing she  was  up  with  the  sun.  While  she  was 
dressing,  her  collie  Dougall  set  up  a  great  barking  in 
the  back  yard.  At  night  he  was  kept  fastened  in  his 
kennel  there  to  keep  watch  that  no  fox  or  'possum 
came  after  the  poultry.  Pen  knew  that  it  could  not 
be  one  of  those  marauders  now  because  it  was  broad 
day  and  there  was  no  alarm  amongst  the  chickens.  So 
she  paid  no  attention.  Doug  like  the  best  of  dogs, 
sometimes  raised  a  false  alarm. 

Night  was  too  far  away  to  wait  for.  Secure  in  the 
feeling  of  their  solitude  Pen  planned  to  carry  Don 
Counsell  what  he  needed  and  get  back  to  the  house  be- 
fore anyone  stirred.  Her  father  arose  like  clockwork 
at  six  and  Aunt  Maria  turned  up  in  the  kitchen  yawn- 
ing about  that  hour,  or  later.  It  was  a  queer  thing  to 
visit  a  man  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning — but  for  hu- 
manity's sakel  He  would  be  asleep  in  his  tent  and 
would  never  know  she  had  been  there  until  he  awoke 
and  found  what  she  had  left.  Pen's  heart  gave  a  queer 
little  jump  at  the  thought  of  being  able  to  look  at  him 
sleeping  without  any  necessity  of  veiling  her  eyes. 

She  billowed  softly  down  the  great  stairway — it  was 
a  treat  to  stand  at  the  bottom  and  see  Pen  come  down 
with  her  toes  pointing — and  scampered  into  the  pantry. 
From  a  high  shelf  she  got  down  an  old  primus  stove 

60 


An  Irruption  from  the  World      61 

which  had  not  been  used  in  a  long  time,  and  cleaned  it 
and  filled  it  with  oil.  Then  she  made  up  a  basket  of 
bread,  butter,  cream,  eggs,  strawberries,  etc.,  and 
started  out  of  the  house. 

Some  instinct  of  caution  impelled  her  to  put  her 
things  down  on  a  chest  in  the  hall,  while  she  gave  a  pre- 
liminary peep  out  of  doors.  She  was  greatly  taken 
aback  to  discover  another  young  gentleman  of  the 
world  sitting  on  the  porch  playing  with  one  of  her 
innumerable  kittens.  He  sprang  up,  and  snatching 
off  his  cap,  bade  her  good  morning. 

Pen  could  only  stare  and  stammer.  "Why  .  .  . 
who  .  .  .  how."  Finally  she  managed  to  blurt  out: 
"Where  did  you  come  from?" 

His  air  was  ingratiating — a  shade  too  ingratiating 
perhaps.  "Rowed  over  from  the  Island,"  he  explained. 
"I  arrived  there  about  three  and  had  a  snooze  on  the 
seat  of  my  car.  As  soon  as  it  began  to  get  light  I 
hunted  about  until  I  found  a  skiff  with  oars  in  it,  and 
came  on  over.  I  suppose  there'll  be  a  row  when  the 
owner  finds  it  gone,  but  I'll  square  myself  with  him 
later.  I  knew  your  house  by  the  cupola." 

Pen  lacked  a  key  to  all  this.  She  looked  her  fur- 
ther questions. 

"I'm  on  the newspaper,"  he  went  on  cheerfully. 

"Claude  Banner  is  my  name.  Last  night  somebody 
telephoned  from  the  Island  that  Don  Counsell  had 
been  here  all  day  yesterday,  so  I  got  a  car  at  once  and 
started.  Lost  my  way  a  couple  of  times.  I  aimed  to 
come  here  direct  by  road,  but  the  hills  in  the  woods 
were  washed  so  badly  I  had  to  turn  around  and  go  to 
the  Island." 


62  Ramshackle  House 

"Mr.  Counsell  has  gone,"  said  Pen.  "You  have  had 
your  journey  for  nothing." 

"Not  at  alll"  he  said  with  his  assured  and  agreeable 
smile.  "It's  your  story  that  I  came  after." 

Pen  looked  at  him  with  a  kind  of  horror.  This 
possibility  had  not  occurred  to  her.  She  withdrew 
into  herself.  "I  have  no  story  to  tell,"  she  said  coldly. 

He  was  not  at  all  abashed.  "My  paper  was  the 
only  one  got  the  tip  last  night,  and  I've  got  to  get  my 
story  over  the  phone  in  time  for  the  evening  edition. 
You  have  a  phone  here  I  see.  The  wires  were  the  first 
things  I  looked  for.  It'll  be  a  rare  scoop.  There'll 
be  a  mob  down  later." 

Pen  shivered  inwardly  and  looked  down.  She  was 
much  confused,  things  were  so  different  from  what  one 
imagined.  Only  last  night  she  had  said  to  herself: 
"If  I  could  get  hold  of  the  men  who  write  for  news- 
papers I'd  make  them  be  fair  to  Don."  (She  already 
called  him  Don  in  her  thoughts.)  Well  here  was  her 
chance,  but  the  brash  young  Danner  antagonized  her 
so  she  could  scarcely  be  civil  to  him.  She  struggled 
with  her  feelings. 

"You'll  have  to  excuse  me.  I  don't  consider  that 
the  public  has  any  interest  in  me  ...  or  any  right  to 
intrude  upon  my  privacy  1  I  hate  to  read  that  sort  of 
story  in  the  newspapers  .  .  .  But  of  course  that's  not 
your  fault  .  .  .  I'm  willing  to  answer  any  proper  ques- 
tions, but  I  must  not  be  quoted.  There  must  be  no 
descriptions  of  me  or  of  my  home!" 

The  young  man's  face  fell.  "But  I've  got  to  tell 
my  story,"  he  protested.  "It'll  be  the  scoop  of  the 
year.  If  I  don't  tell  all  about  you  the  others  will.  I 


An  Irruption  from  the  World      63 

can  appreciate  your  feelings,  but  the  others  are  hard- 
boiled  guys  I  assure  you.  But  you'll  like  what  I  write 
about  you  when  you  see  it.  Everybody  does." 

Pen  smiled  wryly.  "I  don't  know  .  .  .  You'll 
have  breakfast  with  us?" 

"Oh  no!"  he  said. 

"You  must.  There's  no  place  else  for  you  to  go. 
And  you've  been  up  all  night." 

He  saw  that  she  did  not  like  him,  and  he  appre- 
ciated her  invincible  hospitality.  "Say,  I  wish  I  wasn't 
here  on  a  story !"  he  said  impulsively. 

"So  do  I,"  said  Pen.  "I  must  ask  you  to  wait  here 
until  I  get  things  started  in  the  house." 

"But  my  story?" 

"I'll  be  back  shortly." 

Pen  went  in  and  put  away  the  things  in  her  basket 
with  a  heavy  heart.  No  chance  now  of  seeing  Don 
until  night.  All  day  he  would  be  watching  for  her. 
In  the  course  of  time  Aunt  Maria  turned  up  and  break- 
fast was  set  in  train. 

The  "interview"  that  followed  was  hardly  a  success. 
So  few  of  Banner's  questions  came  under  the  head  of 
i  what  Pen  called  "proper"  questions.  And  the  way  he 
kept  sizing  her  up  out  of  the  corners  of  his  eyes  made 
her  stiffer  and  stiffer.  She  wished  not  to  be  stiff;  she 
wished  to  win  Danner  to  Don's  side.  But  she  soon 
discovered  that  it  was  hopeless;  that  the  young  re- 
porter's sole  business  was  to  cater  to  the  public  taste. 
The  sly  look  that  appeared  in  Danner's  eyes  when  she 
casually  expressed  a  doubt  of  Don's  guilt  soon  put  her 
off  that  line.  Meanwhile  she  was  suffering  horribly 
at  the  thought  of  having  their  poverty  exposed  in  the 


64  Ramshackle  House 

newspapers.  Obviously  Danner  missed  nothing;  the 
rotting  porch,  the  patched  screens,  that  ridiculous  bar- 
ricade around  her  sprouting  dahlias. 

Pendleton  Broome  presently  came  downstairs  and 
Danner  got  along  much  better  with  him.  The  re- 
porter knew  just  how  to  set  up  the  little  man  in  his 
own  esteem.  Pendleton  admired  the  newspapers  and 
his  greatest  pleasure  was  to  see  his  name  in  print.  So 
far  he  had  only  won  to  the  correspondence  columns. 
Pendleton  encouraged,  adopted  a  throaty  voice  and 
a  magisterial  air  that  caused  poor  Pen  to  squirm  afresh, 
thinking  of  the  fun  the  clever  young  man  could  have 
with  her  father. 

During  breakfast  Pen  was  obliged  to  hear  the  story 
of  the  previous  day's  happenings  told  and  retold  with 
much  irrelevant  detail.  Danner  exerted  himself  to 
please  her;  he  was  not  a  bad  sort  of  fellow;  but  Pen 
thinking  of  the  other  breakfasting  on  cold  victuals  and 
water,  resented  every  swallow  of  hot  coffee  that  he 
took. 

"When  I  first  read  the  story  in  the  paper,"  thus 
Pendleton,  "the  fellow  was  still  in  the  house.  He  was 
talking  to  my  daughter  in  the  drawing-room — a  very 
gentlemanly,  attractive  sort  of  fellow  you  under- 
stand ..." 

"So  I  understand,"  said  Danner,  glancing  sidelong 
at  Pen. 

"But  there  was  something  in  his  eye  .  .   . !" 

Pen  could  not  stand  for  this.  "Why,  father,"  she 
protested  with  as  good-natured  and  offhand  a  smile 
as  she  could  muster,  "be  fair!  You  never  discovered 
that  'something'  until  you  read  the  paper." 


An  Irruption  from  the  World      65 

"You  are  wrong,  my  dear.  From  the  first  I  was 
aware  of  a  curious  prejudice  against  him.  But  of 
course  I  could  not  let  it  show  while  he  was  our  guest." 

Pen  smiling  at  whatever  cost,  let  it  go. 

"Where  was  I?"  asked  Pendleton. 

Danner  prompted:  "He  was  in  the  drawing-room." 

"Oh  yes  1  For  the  moment  I  was  at  a  loss.  Fright- 
fully awkward  situation.  By  the  time  I  had  resolved 
on  a  course  of  action  he  had  left  the  house  without 
bidding  me  good-night!" 

"Without  bidding  you  good-night !"  echoed  Danner. 

"Without  bidding  me  good-night!" 

Danner  turned  to  Pen.  "Why  do  you  suppose  he 
didn't  say  good-night  to  your  father?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Pen  carelessly.  "I  suppose  he 
forgot." 

"Perhaps  he  had   a  glimpse   of  the  newspaper?" 

"He  couldn't  see  my  father  from  where  he  was." 

"Did  he  seem  agitated?" 

"Not  in  the  least." 

"What  did  you  do  then?"  Danner  asked  Pendleton. 

"My  first  plan  was  to  get  the  lighthouse  keeper  to 
help  me  apprehend  the  fellow.  But  as  I  was  setting 
out  from  the  house  my  daughter  had  a  sudden  at- 
tack ..." 

Danner  had  the  grace  not  to  look  at  Pen,  but  she 
was  aware  of  his  sharp  spring  to  attention. 

"And  as  I  was  obliged  to  go  to  the  Island  for  the 
doctor  I  decided  to  let  him  help  me.  But  when  we 
got  back  the  fellow  had  struck  his  tent  and  pushed  off." 

"That  taken  in  connection  with  his  failure  to  bid  you 
good-night  ..."  suggested  Danner 


66  Ramshackle  House 

"Exactly!"  said  Pendleton. 

Pen  felt  she  would  scream  if  she  were  obliged  to 
listen  to  any  more  of  this.  Making  believe  to  discover 
an  errand  in  the  kitchen,  she  left  the  room. 

When  she  came  back  Banner  asked  with  hypocritical 
solicitude:  "Are  you  quite  well  again  this  morning?" 

"Perfectly,"  said  Pen. 

Useless  to  expect  anything  from  Danner.  Though 
he  was  clearly  sensible  to  Pen's  charm,  the  story  was 
everything  to  him,  and  his  nostrils  were  quivering  now 
on  the  scent  of  a  story  much  more  dramatic  than  he 
had  expected. 

Pendleton  went  on:  "Doctor  Hance  is  coming  back 
in  a  motor-boat  this  morning,  and  we  will  search  the 
bay  shore.  .  .  .  We  have  an  idea  of  the  direction  he 
took,"  he  added  mysteriously. 

"Wish  you  luck,"  said  Danner.  "We  had  a  message 
from  New  York  last  night  that  a  reward  of  five  thou- 
sand dollars  had  been  offered  for  Counsell's  capture." 

He  looked  at  Pen  as  he  said  it.  She  kept  her  eyes 
down,  and  rested  her  hands  on  the  edge  of  the  table 
that  they  might  not  shake. 

"Whatl"  cried  Pendleton.  "Well!  .  .  .  that  let's 
me  out  then.  No  business  for  a  gentleman,  of  course." 

Pen's  sore  heart  warmed  gratefully  towards  her 
father. 

"Who  offers  the  reward?"  Pen  asked  quietly.  (Poor 
Pen!  She  suspected  that  her  parade  of  indifference 
would  never  deceive  the  sharp-eyed  reporter.  What 
she  ought  to  have  shown  was  a  frank,  natural  intere** 
in  the  matter.  But  that  was  beyond  her  powers  of 
dissimulation.) 


An  Irruption  from  the  World      67 

"Ernest  Riever,  the  well-known  millionaire,"  said 
Danner.  "An  intimate  friend  of  the  murdered  man, 
I  believe." 

When  they  finished  breakfast  several  motor-boats 
were  seen  coming  across  from  the  Island.  Danner 
made  haste  to  get  his  story  over  the  phone.  This  was 
an  ordeal  for  Pen.  The  connection  was  bad,  and  Dan- 
ner had  to  shout  his  "human  interest"  stuff  at  the  top 
of  his  lungs.  Pen  went  to  her  room  and  shut  the  door, 
and  buried  her  head  in  the  pillows.  Still  she  could 
hear  the  horrible  sentences  that  outraged  every  feel- 
ing of  privacy  she  had.  After  that  she  gave  up  all 
pretense  of  trying  to  be  agreeable  to  Danner. 

The  first  comers  from  the  Island  were  volunteer 
searchers.  News  of  the  reward  had  been  telephoned 
down  from  Baltimore.  They  came  to  Broome's  Point 
with  the  instinct  of  picking  up  the  trail  where  it  started, 
forgetting  that  water  holds  no  tracks.  One  spot  around 
the  shores  was  as  good  as  another  to  begin  the  search. 
Dr.  Hance  was  not  among  them.  Possibly  the  reward 
had  put  him  off  too.  Others  who  had  not  the  initia- 
tive to  institute  a  search,  merely  came  to  hang  around 
and  stare  and  ask  foolish  questions.  A  little  later 
Captain  Spinney  brought  over  a  whole  party  of  re- 
porters from  Washington,  Baltimore  and  Philadelphia. 
These  gentlemen  undertook  to  interview  Pen  in  a  body. 
She  liked  them  less  than  young  Danner.  She  referred 
them  to  her  father,  and  fled  to  her  room. 

Pendleton,  enthroned  on  the  porch,  the  center  of 
interest  for  the  crowd,  was  in  his  element.  He 
graciously  accepted  the  reporters'  excellent  cigars,  and 
little  by  little,  without  realizing  it,  embroidered  on  his 


68  Ramshackle  House 

tale.  In  an  expansive  moment  he  asked  them  to  lunch 
en  masse,  and  then  in  terror  went  to  Pen  to  tell  her 
what  he  had  done. 

She  merely  nodded.  "There's  enough  for  one  meal. 
But  we'll  run  short  at  supper." 

She  gave  the  necessary  orders  for  the  meal,  but  de- 
clined to  appear  herself.  Not  until  she  knew  the  men 
were  all  gathered  around  the  table  did  she  venture  to 
come  down  the  back  stairs  and  see  to  some  of  the 
things  that  had  been  left  undone  that  distracted  morn- 
ing. Then  she  shut  herself  up  again. 

During  the  afternoon  an  automobile  with  a  broken 
spring  managed  to  win  through  by  the  road.  It  brought 
a  load  of  New  York  reporters.  These  in  asking  their 
way  had  spread  the  news  along  the  Neck,  and  the  poor 
whites  who  lived  there  hidden  in  the  woods  began  to 
straggle  in  in  ox-carts,  to  share  in  the  excitement. 

Reporters  made  themselves  at  home  all  over  the 
lower  floor  of  the  big  house,  even  in  the  kitchen  where 
they  chaffed  Aunt  Maria  and  questioned  her  adroitly. 
This  was  a  source  of  great  uneasiness  to  Pen.  She 
was  divided  between  anxiety  and  indignation.  There 
was  something  old  English  in  Pen.  Thus  to  have  her 
castle  invaded  was  the  greatest  outrage  she  could  con- 
ceive of.  But  what  could  she  do?  She  experienced  a 
sickening  loss  of  identity. 

She  could  not  stay  in  her  room  all  the  time.  When- 
ever she  went  downstairs  it  was  to  be  waylaid  by  one 
or  half  a  dozen  inquisitors  who  according  to  their 
natures  tried  to  cajole  her  or  to  entrap  her  into  an- 
swering their  questions.  Meanwhile  the  natives 


An  Irruption  from  the  World       69 

pressed  their  faces  against  the  windows  and  stared  in. 
Finally  Pen  sought  her  father. 

"How  long  have  I  got  to  submit  to  this?"  she  de- 
manded. 

"To  what,  my  dear?"  he  asked,  sparring  for  timek 
"To  having  my  house  overrun  by  strangers  1" 
"Patience,  my  child.     They're  not  doing  any  real 
harm." 

"But  our  house,  our  house?  Have  we  no  rights  in 
it?" 

"I  know,  I  know.    But  what  can  I  do?" 
"Request  them  to  leave.     They  can  at  least  wait 
outside  the  fence." 

"But  my  dear!"  said  Pendleton  aghast.  "We've 
got  to  stand  in  well  with  the  Press.  Suppose  they 
were  to  give  the  impression  in  their  stories  that  we  were 
concealing  this  fellow !"  This  was  accompanied  by  his 
furtive  glance  of  suspicion. 

Pen  thought  in  dismay:  "One  of  them  has  put  that 
idea  into  his  head!"  She  said  no  more,  but  marched 
indignantly  back  to  her  room. 

Worse  trials  were  in  store  for  her.  About  five, 
from  her  window  she  saw  a  new  party  of  men  come  in 
by  the  drive.  Even  at  the  distance  she  could  see  that 
they  differed  subtly  from  the  reporters,  stupider  look- 
ing men  who  carried  themselves  with  the  arrogance  of 
conscious  rectitude.  After  awhile  Aunt  Maria  came  to 
the  door  of  her  room,  the  whites  of  her  eyes  showing. 
"Miss  Penny,  honey,"  she  gasped.  "Yo'  Paw  say, 
please  to  come  downstairs." 

"What's  the  matter,  Aunt  Maria?" 


7O  Ramshackle  House 

"Detecatifs,  honey!"  said  Aunt  Maria  in  an  awe- 
struck whisper.  "Detecatifs  fum  Noo  Yawkl" 

Without  bestirring  herself  at  all,  Pen  changed  her 
dress  and  went  slowly  downstairs.  As  soon  as  she 
entered  the  drawing-room  she  regretted  her  dilatori- 
ness,  for  they  already  had  Aunt  Maria  on  the  carpet, 
and  the  old  negress  was  sweating  in  agitation.  Pen 
instantly  conceived  a  violent  dislike  of  her  inquisitor. 
He  was  a  bull-necked,  ageing  man  with  pendulous 
cheeks  and  dull,  irascible  blue  eyes.  He  lolled  in  a  chair 
by  the  window,  with  an  arm  over  the  back,  and  his 
fingers  interlaced.  He  nodded  to  Pen  and  curtly  re- 
quested her  to  be  seated. 

Pen  flared  up  inwardly.  ("Asking  me  to  sit  down 
in  my  own  house!")  In  order  to  show  that  she  was 
still  mistress  there,  she  moved  calmly  about  the  room, 
setting  things  in  order.  They  had  presumed  to  shove 
her  center  table  over  to  the  fireplace  to  give  them- 
selves room.  She  shoved  it  back.  The  chief  with  an 
annoyed  glance  resumed  his  questioning  of  the  scared 
negress. 

The  room  was  full  of  people.  There  were  four 
lesser  officers  grouped  around  the  chief's  chair.  The 
reporters  were  gathered  in  a  group  under  the  arch  that 
led  to  the  back  drawing-room.  Pen  soon  learned  that 
there  was  an  excellent  working  agreement  between 
these  two  parties,  the  reporters  dependent  on  the  de- 
tectives for  news,  and  the  detectives  dependent  on  the 
reporters  for  public  recognition  of  their  efforts.  Over 
by  the  other  front  window  sat  Pendleton,  leaning  back 
in  an  old  swircl  chair,  trying  to  appear  at  his  ease. 


An  Irruption  from  the  World       71 

Aunt  Maria  was  saying:  "Soon  as  Mist'  Pendleton 
go  out  Ah  undress  Miss  Penny  and  put  her  in  baid. 
She  done  drap  right  off  lak  a  kitten." 

"Then  what  did  you  do?"  the  man  asked  in  the 
rasping  voice  inquisitors  affect. 

"Me?    Ah  didn't  do  nuffin,  suh.    Ah  jes  sot." 

"Did  you  go  to  sleep  too?" 

"Ah  reckon  Ah  did." 

"How  long  did  you  sleep?" 

"  'Deed  I  caint  tell.  I  aint  know  nuffin  else  till  Miss 
Penny  wake  me  up  again." 

"So  she  woke  you  up?" 

Aunt  Maria  perceived  that  she  had  made  a  slip* 
"Yessuh!  Yessuh!"  she  stammered,  "Miss  Penny 
done  want  a  drink  of  watah." 

"How  did  she  wake  you?" 

Again  Aunt  Maria's  tongue  slipped.  "She  done 
shook  mah  ahm." 

"So  she  was  out  of  bed?" 

"No  suh!  No  suh!"  cried  Aunt  Maria  in  a  panic. 
"I  misrecollect  that.  She  jes  hollered  at  me." 

It  would  have  been  patent  to  a  child  that  Aunt 
Maria  was  lying.  The  scene  was  intolerable  to  Pen's 
pride. 

"Aunt  Maria,  tell  the  truth,"  she  said  sharply. 

The  poor  old  negress  turned  a  face  of  complete 
dismay  to  her  mistress.  What  was  she  to  make  of 
this?  In  her  confusion  she  was  unable  to  get  any- 
thing else  out. 

To  Pen  the  chief  detective  said  harshly:  "Please  be 
silent,  Miss.  You  will  have  a  chance  to  tell  your  story 
in  a  minute." 


Ramshackle  House 

Pen's  eyes  blazed.  "You  are  not  to  suppose  that 
you  are  entrapping  me  or  my  servant !"  she  said  hotly. 
"I  have  no  objection  to  your  knowing  that  I  went  down 
to  the  beach  last  night  and  warned  Mr.  Counsell  that 
he  was  liable  to  arrest!" 

It  had  the  effect  of  a  bombshell  there  in  the  room. 
For  a  second  .all  the  men  stared  at  Pen  open-mouthed. 
Then  of  one  accord  the  reporters  made  a  rush  out  into 
the  hall  where  the  telephone  was.  He  who  first  laid 
hand  on  it  was  allowed  to  get  his  call  in  first.  Pen  was 
too  angry  now  to  be  terrified  by  further  publicity. 
Their  precipitancy  merely  disgusted  her.  Was  there 
no  such  thing  as  human  dignity? 

v  Pendleton  Broome's  swivel  chair  had  come  forward 
with  a  snap.  He  looked  clownish.  He  was  the  only 
one  really  surprised  by  Pen's  disclosure.  What  aston- 
ished the  others  was  that  she  should  have  admitted  it. 
For  a  fleeting  instant  Pen  felt  sorry  for  the  little  man, 
but  she  had  too  much  on  her  mind  for  the  feeling  to 
linger.  The  detective  was  not  surprised,  but  he  had 
counted  on  dragging  out  the  admission,  and  it  annoyed 
him  excessively  to  have  it  flung  in  his  face.  He  af- 
fected to  be  consulting  with  his  subordinates  while  he 
recovered  himself. 

"You  had  better  question  me,"  Pen  said.  "Aunt 
Maria  knows  nothing  more." 

"Allow  me  to  be  the  judge  of  that,"  he  said 
sarcastically. 

Pen  shrugged.  He  went  on  questioning  the  negress, 
but  she  was  reduced  to  a  gibbering  state.  In  the  end 
he  had  to  let  her  go.  Aunt  Maria  hung  in  the  hall, 
just  around  the  corner  of  the  door,  listening  with 


An  Irruption  from  the  World       73 

stretched  ears.    The  reporters  straggled  back  into  the 
room. 

Pen  and  the  detective  faced  each  other.  The  man 
cleared  his  throat  and  settled  his  collar,  gave  attention 
to  his  finger  nails,  and  glanced  carelessly  out  of  the 
window — all  time-honored  devices  to  break  up  the 
composure  of  one's  opponent.  Pen  merely  looked  at 
him.  Suddenly  he  rasped  at  her: 

"So  you  assisted  this  murderer  to  escape?" 

"Don't  speak  to  me  like  that,"  said  Pen  quietly,  with 
heightened  color.  "He  is  not  yet  proved  a  murderer." 
Meanwhile  her  inner  voice  was  saying  despairingly: 
"You  should  not  antagonize  him!  You  should  not 
antagonize  him!"  But  it  was  impossible  for  her  to 
act  otherwise  towards  this  great,  stupid  bully. 

He  smiled  disagreeably;  nevertheless  he  modified 
his  tone.  "What  did  you  do  it  for?"  he  asked. 

"He  had  had  dinner  and  supper  with  us,"  said  Pen. 
"I  differed  with  my  father  as  to  its  being  our  duty  to 
inform  against  him." 

"Where  did  he  go  from  here?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"WThat!  It  was  a  bright  moonlight  night.  Didn't 
you  have  interest  enough  to  watch  which  way  he  went 
after  having  warned  him?" 

"He  paddled  straight  out  from  the  shore.  I  didn't 
wait.  The  motor-boat  was  coming  back." 

"Why  didn't  they  see  your  tracks  in  the  sand?" 

"I  walked  at  the  edge  of  the  water." 

"What  did  you  want  to  deceive  your  father  for?" 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Pen  with  her  chin  up. 
"That  is  between  my  father  and  me." 


74  Ramshackle  House 

The  detective  abandoned  this  line  of  questioning. 
"Didn't  Counsell  tell  you  where  he  was  going?"  he 
demanded. 

"No." 

"Didn't  you  talk  down  on  the  beach?" 

"Certainly." 

"What  about?" 

"I  had  to  tell  him  what  was  in  the  newspaper." 

"Didn't  he  know  already?" 

"He  did  not." 

The  detective  looked  around  at  his  subordinates 
with  a  leer,  and  they  all  laughed.  Instead  of  discon- 
certing Pen  it  had  the  effect  of  stiffening  her.  She 
looked  at  one  after  another  so  steadily  that  their  eyes 
suddenly  found  business  elsewhere. 

The  chief  said  suddenly  with  the  air  of  one  spring* 
ing  a  disagreeable  surprise:  "Had  you  ever  seen 
Counsell  before  yesterday?" 

"Never,"  said  Pen. 

"Are  you  sure  of  that?" 

Pen  merely  looked  at  him. 

"Answer  my  question,  please  I" 

"I  have  already  answered  it." 

"Do  you  expect  me  to  believe  that  you  undertook 
to  save  a  total  stranger  from  the  law?" 

"I  have  stated  the  facts." 

The  detective  sprang  to  his  feet  and  shook  a  violent 
forefinger  at  Pen — the  old  trick  of  the  inquisitor. 
"You  have  seen  this  man  before  I" 

"Don't  shout  at  me,"  said  Pen  coolly.  "I  am  not  a 
criminal." 


An  Irruption  from  the  World       75 

"As  to  that  we'll  see,"  he  said  ominously.    "Did  you 
ever  hear  of  accessory  after  the  fact." 

"Well,  if  I  am  a  criminal,"  said  Pen,  "I  don't  have  to 
testify  against  myself." 

"Don't  argue  with  me  if  you  please,"  he  said.  "Just 
answer  my  questions." 

"Answer  me  a  question  if  you  please,**  said  Pen 
clearly. 

He  stared.  He  was  not  accustomed  to  having  the 
tables  turned  like  this. 

Before  he  could  explode  Pen  asked  her  question: 
"You  are  from  New  York,  aren't  you?" 

"What  of  it?" 

"What  are  your  rights  in  Maryland?" 

His  face  turned  ugly.  "You'll  see !"  He  addressed 
•ne  of  his  men.  "Keesing,  you  have  heard  this  young 
woman's  admissions.  There's  a  justice  of  the  peace 
•ver  on  the  Island.  Go  to  him  and  make  the  necessary 
affidavit  to  secure  a  warrant  for  her  arrest." 

The  man  left  the  room.  Pen  believed  this  to  be  a 
bluff,  and  scornfully  smiled.  Her  father  was  impressed 
though.  He  wilted  down  in  his  chair,  and  put  out  an 
imploring  hand  towards  his  daughter.  He  was  in- 
capable of  speaking. 

"Do  you  want  anything  else  of  me?*1  Pen  coolly 
asked  her  questioner. 

Seeing  that  his  threat  had  failed  of  effect,  the  de- 
tective judged  it  prudent  not  to  prolong  this  scene. 
"That  is  all  for  the  present,"  he  said  loftily.  "You 
will  please  not  leave  the  house." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Pen,  "but  until  I  am  arrested  I 
shall  do  just  what  I  am  accustomed  to  do." 


76  Ramshackle  House 

She  left  the  room  with  her  head  up  and  went  on  up 
the  stairs.  She  was  not  at  all  pleased  with  herself 
though.  That  inner  voice  said  remorselessly:  "You 
have  only  angered  him  without  doing  Don  any  good. 
To  be  sure,  she  had  seen  sympathy  in  the  eyes  of  some 
of  the  reporters,  but  they  could  not  say  anything  of 
course  that  might  endanger  their  working  agreement 
with  the  detectives.  At  the  thought  of  danger  to  her- 
self Pen  smiled.  She  was  in  the  frame  of  mind  that 
welcomes  persecution.  But  her  heart  was  full  of  terror 
for  Don.  She  had  not  foreseen  that  the  place  would 
be  overrun  like  this.  He  was  so  near!  And  the  de- 
tective's order  to  remain  in  the  house  suggested  that 
they  suspected  he  might  still  be  on  the  place. 

On  her  knees  at  her  front  window  she  watched  the 
men  leave  the  house  in  a  body.  Some  shrubbery  cut  off 
her  view  of  the  gate,  and  she  could  not  tell  which 
way  they  turned  after  passing  through  it.  Fortunately 
but  an  hour  or  two  of  daylight  remained. 


CHAPTER  IV 

BESIDE  THE  LITTLE  TEMPLE 

WHEN  Pen  was  sure  that  the  house  was  emptied 
of  strangers  she  went  downstairs  to  see  about 
the  belated  supper.  She  was  mad  with  anxiety  to 
know  what  was  happening  outside,  but  whatever  comes, 
people  must  eat.  Everything  in  the  kitchen  was  at 
sixes  and  sevens  of  course,  and  Aunt  Maria  nowhere 
to  be  seen. 

The  old  negress  presently  waddled  in  panting.  She 
was  both  terrified  and  delighted  by  the  gale  of  excite- 
ment that  had  suddenly  blown  upon  the  settled  peace  of 
Broome's  Point.  In  order  to  divert  her  mistress' 
wrath,  she  made  haste  to  give  Pen  the  latest  news  from 
out-of-doors.  It  appeared  that  the  detectives  and 
the  reporters  had  jointly  hired  the  empty  tenant  cot- 
tage outside  the  gate,  and  were  busy  establishing  them- 
selves there.  They  had  sent  over  to  the  island  for 
supplies,  and  for  all  the  cots  and  bedding  available. 
They  had  hired  a  white  woman  from  up  the  Neck  to 
cook  for  them. 

"Huh!"  said  Aunt  Maria  scornfully.  "All  Mis' 
Hat  Dawkins  evah  cook  is  fat  back  and  cawn  pone!" 

Pen  breathed  more  freely. 

Pen  and  her  father  supped  alone  together.  The 
events  of  half  a  lifetime  seemed  to  have  occurred 
since  the  last  time  they  had  sat  down  without  guests. 

77 


78  Ramshackle  House 

That  was  breakfast  the  day  before.  By  now  every 
vestige  of  Pendleton's  self-important  air  was  gone. 
The  situation  had  become  too  big  for  him.  He  was 
too  much  overcome  even  to  blame  Pen  for  anything 
that  had  happened.  As  always  when  things  became 
difficult  he  depended  like  a  child  on  Pen's  superior 
strength.  He  had  to  blame  something  so  he  railed 
ceaselessly  against  the  evil  chance  that  had  brought 
Counsell  to  their  door. 

Pen,  busy  with  her  own  thoughts  let  him  run  on. 
Her  brain  was  clicking  like  a  well-oiled  piece  of  ma- 
chinery. Like  a  brave  fighter  she  had  to  count  up  all 
the  chances  against  her.  How  was  she  going  to  get 
out  of  the  house  that  night,  and  how  reach  Don  when 
their  enemies  were  camped  squarely  beside  her  path? 
How  could  she  guide  him  to  a  safer  hiding-place,  and 
yet  leave  the  way  open  to  carry  him  what  he  needed 
from  time  to  time?  How  could  she  get  him  away  from 
that  dangerous  neighborhood  altogether?  But  per- 
haps after  all  Broome's  Point  was  the  safest  place  in 
the  world  for  him.  But  if  he  stayed  near  what 
prodigies  of  courage,  of  astuteness,  of  resourcefulness 
would  be  demanded  from  her!  Not  for  an  instant 
would  she  be  able  to  relax.  Nerved  as  she  was  it  was 
a  prospect  to  make  her  tremble. 

Pen  enjoyed  one  great  advantage  in  knowing  every 
foot  of  ground  around  the  place.  The  daily  hunt  for 
her  vagrant  turkeys,  as  well  as  the  search  every  Spring 
for  their  nests,  had  taught  her  that.  She  knew  she 
could  find  her  way  on  the  darkest  night,  but  she  was 
a  good  deal  troubled  by  the  natives  wandering  around 
the  place.  A  party  of  them  had  built  a  fire  over  in 


Beside  the  Little  Temple  79 

the  northeast  corner  of  the  grounds  as  if  they  intended 
to  bivouac  there.  The  darker  the  night  the  better  for 
her.  She  watched  the  sky  anxiously.  It  was  quite 
heavily  overcast,  but  with  the  moon  at  the  full  there 
would  be  a  good  deal  of  diffused  light  just  the  same. 

Another  danger  was  that  her  dog  Dougall  might 
betray  her.  She  got  around  that  by  instructing  Thedo' 
to  shut  him  up  in  the  barn.  She  had  a  convenient  rea- 
son for  doing  so  in  that  Doug  had  not  been  at  all  hos- 
pitable to  the  strangers  during  the  day.  "He  might 
hurt  somebody,"  Pen  said. 

The  hours  after  supper  were  very  hard  for  Pen  to 
put  in.  Her  plans  were  complete  now,  but  she  needed 
darkness  and  quiet  to  put  them  into  motion.  Some- 
body had  brought  their  mail  over  from  the  Island,  and 
Pendleton  was  absorbed  in  the  latest  accounts  of  the 
Counsell  case.  There  was  nothing  about  Broome's 
Point  as  yet  save  the  bare  announcement  that  Counsell 
had  turned  up  there  in  a  canoe.  Pen  was  obliged  to 
read  the  paper  too,  though  it  nauseated  her.  This 
day's  story  contained  nothing  of  especial  significance. 
There  was  an  interview  with  Ernest  Riever  the  million- 
aire who  had  put  up  the  reward  for  Counsell's  capture. 
Pen  determined  to  ask  Don  about  him. 

Towards  dark  one  of  the  detectives  without  so  much 
as  by  your  leave,  came  and  took  up  his  station  in  a 
chair  on  the  front  porch.  Pen  hearing  him  slapping 
at  the  mosquitoes  out  there,  smiled  dryly  to  herself. 
She  went  out  into  the  dark  kitchen  and  found  as  she 
expected,  that  there  was  another  man  on  the  kitchen 
porch.  This  relieved  her  mind.  Much  better  to 
know  where  the  watchers  were  than  to  have  them 


8o  Ramshackle  House 

concealed  about  the  grounds.  Pen  had  her  own  way 
of  getting  out  of  the  house. 

She  could  not  get  her  father  started  to  bed  until 
she  first  made  believe  to  go  herself.  She  lay  down  on 
the  outside  of  her  bed  fully  clothed.  When,  after  an 
age-long  wait,  she  heard  the  sound  of  his  snores  from 
across  the  hall,  she  rose  again  and  flitted  noiselessly 
downstairs.  For  the  past  hour  she  had  heard  no 
sound  from  outside.  She  was  accustomed  to  moving 
around  the  house  in  the  dark,  and  she  already  had 
everything  she  wanted  to  carry  with  her  placed  handy 
to  her  hand.  Wrapping  each  article  separately  in 
newspaper  she  put  them  all  in  a  jute  bag.  Then  satis- 
fying herself  that  the  watchers  were  still  on  the  front 
and  the  back  porch,  she  made  her  way  down  cellar. 
There  was  a  possibility  that  there  might  be  other  men 
stationed  out  in  the  grounds,  but  she  had  to  chance  that. 

On  the  north  side  of  the  house  under  the  kitchen 
the  cellar  communicated  with  the  outside  by  half  a 
dozen  steps  and  inclined  doors  in  the  old  style.  The 
milk  was  brought  in  this  way  and  the  doors  were  always 
open.  A  clump  of  bushes  outside  accounted  for  the 
fact  that  the  opening  had  not  yet  been  discovered. 
This  was  the  blind  side  of  the  house. 

For  a  moment  Pen  lingered  behind  the  bushes  listen- 
ing, then  came  out.  All  along  the  northern  side  of 
the  grounds  ran  a  wind-break  of  arbor-vitae.  There 
was  a  gap  in  it,  torn  by  the  winter  gales.  Pen  made 
for  that.  She  neither  ran  nor  crouched.  While  she 
wanted  to  escape  observation,  if  she  were  seen,  she 
wished  to  know  of  it.  The  fatal  thing  would  be  to- 
unwittingly  lead  someone  to  Don's  hiding-place. 


Beside  the  Little  Temple  81 

She  passed  through  the  gap  and  hid  herself  on 
the  other  side  to  make  sure  she  was  not  followed.  No- 
body came  through. 

She  then  had  to  make  a  long  detour  around  the 
house  grounds,  across  the  old  paddock  and  the  stable 
yard  in  the  rear,  across  the  road  which  led  up  the 
Neck  and  thence  via  a  small  triangular  field  into  the 
woods.  Within  shadow  of  the  woods  she  waited  again 
to  make  sure  she  was  not  followed  across  the  field. 
Nothing  stirred  behind  her.  She  could  see  pretty  well. 

There  was  no  path  through  this  part  of  the  woods, 
and  it  was  a  matter  of  infinite  difficulty  to  make  her 
way  through  the  underbrush  and  the  thorny  creepers 
without  betraying  herself.  She  forced  patience  on 
herself  and  proceeded  foot  by  foot.  The  distance  was 
not  far  and  she  laid  a  true  course.  She  came  out  on 
her  own  path  in  the  woods.  Her  heart  began  to  beat 
in  her  throat.  A  hundred  paces  further  lay  the  little 
temple. 

He  heard  her  coming  and  appeared  ducking  under 
his  mosquito  curtain.  His  arms  went  out  to  her  in- 
voluntarily. Pen  fearful  of  some  outburst  made  a  warn- 
ing sound: 

"Shh!" 

That  unthinking  gesture  of  his  melted  her  com- 
pletely. How  natural  to  have  flung  herself  into  his 
arms.  All  her  carefully  built-up  strength  seemed  to 
run  away  like  water.  She  fought  against  it  desperately. 
Not  for  an  instant  could  she  afford  to  relax.  She 
must  think  and  be  strong  for  both  of  them.  She 
turned  aside  from  his  begging  arms. 


82  Ramshackle  House 

"I  was  delayed,"  she  whispered  faintly.  "Much  has 
happened." 

"What  does  it  matter?"  he  said  warmly.  "You're 
here  I  This  is  the  longest  day  I've  ever  lived  through. 
You  told  me  you  wouldn't  be  here  till  night,  but  I 
couldn't  help  expecting  you.  Every  time  a  leaf  stirred 
I  thought  it  was  you!"  He  sought  to  draw  her  to 
him. 

"You  mustn't  I"  whispered  Pen  sharply.  "We're 
surrounded  by  danger.  We  must  plan.  This  place  is 
no  longer  safe.  You  must  listen  to  me.  Listen  care- 
fully." 

His  arms  dropped  to  his  sides.  Pen  hurriedly  began 
to  tell  her  story. 

He  interrupted  her.  "Come  inside.  The  mosquitoes 
are  too  bad." 

She  hung  back  a  little.  Could  she  withstand  him 
in  the  close  intimacy  of  his  little  tent?  She  must  I 
Steeling  her  breast  she  followed  him  in. 

They  sat  side  by  side  on  the  ground,  nursing  their 
knees  and  looking  out  through  the  mosquito  curtain 
at  the  little  temple  outlined  against  the  pale  sky. 
Their  shoulders  pressed  warmly  together.  That  con- 
tact deprived  Pen  of  the  power  of  thinking,  and  she 
moved  away  a  little.  That  hurt  him;  she  knew  it  by 
the  hang  of  his  head.  But  she  went  doggedly  ahead 
with  her  story. 

When  she  came  to  the  end  Don  said  bitterly: 
"Well  I've  had  plenty  of  time  to-day  to  think  things 
over.  There's  only  one  course  open  to  me.  I've  got 
to  give  myself  up." 

Pen  had  expected  this.     "Wait!"  she  said  urgently. 


Beside  the  Little  Temple  83 

"We  must  talk  things  over.  You  must  read  the  papers 
I  brought  you  before  you  make  up  your  mind.  You 
don't  know  yet  what  you're  up  against.  I  don't  under- 
stand what  makes  the  newspapers  so  bitter.  Every- 
body who  reads  the  stories  is  roused  to  a  sort  of  craze 
to  hunt  you  down.  What  sort  of  a  trial  would  you 
get  ?  Why  they  were  even  ready  to  arrest  me  because 
I  took  your  part!" 

Don  was  wildly  indignant.  "You  have  to  go  through 
such  things  while  I  sit  here  in  safety!"  he  cried. 

"That  was  nothing,"  said  Pen.  "He  didn't  mean  it 
really." 

"I  can't  stand  it!"  cried  Don.  "You  don't  know 
what  I'm  going  through.  Sitting  here  idle  thinking 
about  these  things.  I'd  go  out  of  my  mind!" 

"I  do  know  what  you're  going  through,"  murmured 
Pen. 

"Suppose  I  did  get  away,"  he  went  on.  "Would 
my  life  be  worth  saving  with  this  accusation  hanging 
over  me?  What  sort  of  a  life  would  I  lead?" 

"But  the  truth  must  come  to  light  1"  insisted  Pen. 
"We  will  bring  it  to  light." 

"How  can  I  fight  for  myself  tied  hand  and  foot  like 
this?" 

"You  could  use  me,"  she  murmured. 

"That's  just  it!"  he  said  bitterly.     "I  couldn't!" 

"You  haven't  much  of  an  opinion  of  women,  have 
you?" 

"You  don't  understand  me.  I  don't  doubt  but  you're 
a  whole  lot  cleverer  than  I.  But  I  have  my  pride. 
What  would  you  think  of  a  man  who  .  ."  He  ended 
with  a  shrug. 


84  Ramshackle  House 

"We  just  argue  round  in  a  circle,"  said  Pen  de- 
jectedly. 

"So  it  seems." 

"It's  a  waste  of  time,"  she  said  more  firmly.  "Let 
us  talk  things  over  first  and  find  out  where  we're  at. 
Your  first  thought  was  that  it  was  a  case  of  suicide." 

"I've  changed  my  mind,"  he  said.  "Dongan  hadn't 
the  nerve.  He  was  the  sort  of  man  to  cling  to  life. 
Besides  the  loss  of  seventy-five  thousand  wasn't  a 
knock-out  blow  to  him.  He  could  have  raised  the 
money." 

"Then  it  was  murder,"  said  Pen.  "That  agrees 
with  the  doctor's  evidence.  Who  do  you  think  killed 
him?" 

"I  swear  I  don't  know,"  said  Don  helplessly.  "I've 
been  beating  my  brains  all  day  without  being  able  to 
hit  out  an  idea.  His  life  was  as  open  as  daylight." 

"You  knew  him  well?" 

"About  as  well  as  one  man  can  know  another.  We 
came  of  the  same  lot  you  see ;  old  New  York  families 
that  had  been  acquainted  for  three  or  four  genera- 
tions. Lord !  we  were  too  close  for  my  comfort  some- 
times. He  was  one  of  these  men  with  no  reticence. 
His  confidences  were  embarrassing.  He  was  alone  in 
the  world,  and  he  had  a  horror  of  his  own  company, 
see  ?  Very  often  I  was  hard  put  to  it  to  get  away  about 
my  own  concerns." 

"But  you  were  much  attached  to  him?" 

"Frankly,  no  1"  said  Don.  "He  was  the  sort  of  man 
you  just  take  as  a  matter  of  course.  Perfectly  well- 
meaning,  but  a  bit  of  a  bore.  No  salt  in  him.  I  would 
never  have  gone  in  with  him  if  I'd  realized." 


Beside  the  Little  Temple  85 

"The  newspaper  said  he  was  your  benefactor." 

"Not  exactly,"  said  Don  dryly.  "When  I  came  out 
of  college  I  was  at  a  loose  end.  I'm  the  last  of  my  lot, 
you  know.  Not  a  near  relation  in  the  world.  It's 
true  Dongan  offered  me  a  partnership,  but  it  was  not 
altogether  philanthropy.  I  had  twenty-five  thousand 
to  put  in.  He  had  his  seat  on  'change  and  he  needed 
the  capital." 

"You  said  he  swindled  you." 

"It  was  his  first  crooked  deal  I'm  sure.  Even  now 
I  can't  understand  it.  He  must  have  been  possessed!" 

"How  did  it  come  out?" 

"Friday  night  we  had  dinner  together.  Lord!  it 
seems  like  a  year  ago  instead  of  five  days  .  .  .  And 
now  the  earth  is  over  him!"  Don  shuddered. 

"You  mustn't  think  of  that,"  said  Pen  quickly. 

"You're  right!  .  .  .  He  had  something  on  his 
mind.  Said  he  wanted  to  talk  to  me.  So  I  went  up  to 
his  rooms  afterward.  There  he  blurted  out  that  he 
was  long  on  Union  Central.  The  stock  had  broken 
thirteen  points  that  day.  He  was  seventy-five  thou- 
sand in  the  hole.  Hadn't  a  sou,  he  said.  Evidently 
he'd  been  bucking  the  market  for  some  time.  Well, 
that  was  bad  enough,  but  he  actually  had  the  cheek 
to  suggest  that  I  take  the  debt  on  my  shoulders.  I 
was  young,  he  said,  I  could  live  it  down,  whereas  it 
would  ruin  him.  In  the  end  it  came  out  that  he  had 
already  entered  the  transactions  in  my  name  in  our 
private  ledger,  knowing  that  I  never  looked  in  the 
book.  That  made  me  see  red.  Such  treachery!  I 
blew  up.  I  withdrew  from  the  firm  on  the  spot.  Told 
him  he  could  have  my  twenty-five  thousand  until  he 


86  Ramshackle  House 

was  on  his  feet,  and  he  could  borrow  the  rest  from 
his  wealthy  friends." 

"What  did  you  do  next?"  asked  Pen. 

"I  was  so  blazing  mad  I  scarcely  knew  what  I  waj 
doing.  My  one  idea  was  to  get  shut  of  the  whole  boil- 
ing. Rotten  game  the  Street;  I  was  fed  up  with  it 
anyhow.  This  only  capped  the  climax.  I  longed  for 
something  clean  like  paddling  a  canoe  in  open  water. 
My  canoe  was  up  at  a  boat-house  on  Spuyten  Duyvil 
creek.  I  flung  a  few  things  into  a  valise  and  went 
right  up  there  and  got  it.  I  paddled  right  through 
the  rest  of  the  night;  down  to  Perth  Amboy  and  up 
the  Raritan  river.  By  morning  I  was  cooled  off.  You 
see  I'd  no  reason  to  worry  about  the  firm.  Dongan 
had  plenty  of  wealthy  friends.  If  he'd  lived  he  could 
have  raised  the  money." 

"How  did  your  revolver  get  away  from  you?" 

"Oh  1  ...  I  don't  know.  While  I  was  packing  I 
noticed  it  wasn't  there,  but  I  was  too  much  excited 
to  think  about  it." 

"Had  Mr.  Dongan  any  enemies?" 

"No.  How  should  he  have?  A  man  like  that. 
Never  did  a  positive  act  in  his  life,  either  good  or 
bad." 

"A  love-affair  maybe?" 

Don  shook  his  head  with  a  smile.  "Not  Dongan't 
line  at  all.  He  had  no  luck  with  the  sex." 

"Who  were  his  friends?" 

"He  had  no  really  intimate  friends.  Nobody  who 
cared  about  him  particularly.  Plenty  of  associates  of 
course.  There  was  Ernest  Riever." 

"I  was  going  to  ask  you  about  him." 


Beside  the  Little  Temple  87 

"You  know  him?" 

"Only  as  a  name." 

"Son  of  Scott  Riever  the  steel  magnate.  Scott 
Riever's  one  of  the  richest  men  in  the  country.  Ernest 
is  rich  in  his  own  right,  too.  He  just  fluffs  around. 
Has  a  big  place  up  in  Westchester  county  where  he 
raises  peaches  and  so  on.  It's  his  hobby." 

"What  sort  of  man  is  he?" 

"A  queer  Dick!"  said  Don  deliberating.  "A  queer 
Dick!  .  .  .  Hard  to  describe  offhand." 

"He  has  offered  five  thousand  dollars  reward  for 
your  capture,"  said  Pen. 

Don  was  electrified.  "What!"  he  cried.  "The 
devil  you  say!  .  .  Riever  has  come  out  against  me! 
...  By  God,  that's  funny  1" 

"Does  that  make  things  clear  to  you?"  Pen  asked 
eagerly. 

"Wait  a  minute!  .  .  .  Let  me  think!  .  .  .  It's 
damn  funny!  .  .  Riever!  .  .  My  God!" 

"Tell  me,"  pleaded  Pen.  "Begin  at  the  beginning. 
Do  you  know  Riever  well?" 

"Sure!  It  was  I  who  introduced  him  to  Dongan. 
He's  the  same  age  as  me.  We  were  class-mates  in 
college.  We  passed  as  pals.  But  it  was  a  queer  sort 
of  friendship.  I  never  could  make  him  out.  I  couldn't 
keep  my  end  up  with  his  gilded  set.  I  went  in  for 
athletics.  But  he  used  to  come  around  me  all  the  time. 
Flattered  me  and  so  on.  Yet  he  didn't  seem  to  like 
me  either.  I'd  catch  him  looking  at  me  in  no  friendly 
way.  He'd  let  out  sneering  remarks." 

"Is  he  a  little  man,  ill-favored?"  asked  Pen. 

"Why  yes.    How  did  you  know?" 


88  Ramshackle  House 

Pen  smiled  to  herself.  "Nothing.  Go  on.  You 
were  popular  in  college?" 

"So  they  said,"  Don  said  offhand.  "College  popu- 
larity doesn't  saw  much  wood  in  later  life." 

"But  you  were  prominent?" 

"Oh  yes.     Captain  of  the  crew  in  my  senior  year." 

"I  see.     Go  on  about  Riever." 

"Well,  after  we  got  out  of  college  there  was  a  sort 
of  mix-up.  Nasty  mess.  Riever  had  married  upon 
graduation.  Her  name  was  Nell  Proctor,  daughter 
of  the  coal  trust.  I  don't  believe  he  cared  anything 
about  her,  nor  she  about  him.  It  was  just  the  union  of 
two  powerful  families  that  both  sides  were  trying  to 
bring  about. 

"Meanwhile  I'd  gone  into  the  brokerage  business. 
Riever  would  always  be  asking  me  up  to  his  place  and 
I  went  of  course.  I  didn't  like  him  any  better  than 
before,  but  I  had  to  cultivate  my  graft.  I  don't  sup- 
pose Riever's  stock  operations  meant  much  in  his  life, 
but  he  was  far  and  away  the  biggest  customer  Don- 
gan  and  Counsell  had.  We  got  business  merely  through 
being  associated  with  him. 

"I  didn't  mention,  did  I,  that  Riever  had  a  rotten 
streak  in  him,  particularly  where  women  were  con- 
cerned. As  time  went  on  I  noticed  the  fair  Nell  grow- 
ing ever  paler  and  more  tight-lipped  and  I  guessed  that 
an  explosion  was  coming.  Then  Riever  stopped  ask- 
ing me  up  there  any  more.  I  wondered.  He  still 
came  around  the  office  and  gave  us  his  orders.  There 
was  a  lot  of  talk  around  town,  and  finally  a  fellow 
told  me  they  were  saying  that  Nell  Riever  had  done 
me  the  honor  .  .  .  well  you  know." 


Beside  the  Little  Temple  89 

Pen's  breast  grew  tight. 

"I  laughed  at  the  story.  Why  we'd  scarcely  ever 
exchanged  a  word  in  private.  She  wasn't  my  sort  at 
all.  Riever's  attitude  towards  me  hadn't  changed 
in  the  least. 

"Soon  there  was  a  complete  bust-up  of  the  Riever 
establishment.  Nell  sued  him  for  divorce.  She  had 
cause  enough  God  knows.  His  affairs  were  notorious. 
He  set  up  a  countersuit  and  produced  a  letter  in  court 
that  Nell  had  written  to  some  unnamed  man.  Ernest 
had  intercepted  it.  Well  this  letter  was  published 
and  I  knew  by  internal  evidence  that  it  was  .  .  .  well 
you  know  .  .  it  had  been  written  to  me.  A  man  hates 
to  tell  these  things  about  himself !  Poor  girl !  Just  a 
foolish  impulse  no  doubt,  that  she  regretted  as  soon 
as  she  had  given  away  to  it!  Anyhow  the  letter  was 
thrown  out  and  she  got  her  divorce  with  "thumping 
alimony." 

Poor  Pen  was  thinking  to  herself:  "I  wish  I  hadn't 
had  to  hear  about  this  woman.  I  shall  remember  her !" 

Don  went  on:  "My  name  had  not  been  mentioned 
openly,  and  Riever  still  came  around  the  office.  He 
still  made  out  to  treat  me  as  an  intimate  friend,  but 
that  was  just  to  put  off  the  gossips.  I  began  to  be  aware 
of  a  change.  Once  or  twice  I  caught  his  eyes  fixed 
on  me  with  an  expression  that  was  simply  poisonous!" 

A  sharp  exclamation  escaped  from  Pen. 

"Made  me  damned  uncomfortable,"  said  Don.  "Not 
that  I  was  afraid  of  him,  poor  little  runt!  But  one 
hates  to  know  that  there  are  ugly  feelings  like  that 
around.  He  got  in  the  way  of  giving  Dongan  his 
orders.  He  and  Dongan  became  quite  thick." 


9O  Ramshackle  House 

"Did  this  have  any  effect  on  Mr.  Dongan's  attitude 
towards  you?"  asked  Pen. 

"Yes,"  said  Don,  "now  that  you  speak  of  it;  Dongan 
had  been  acting  queerly  towards  me  for  some  time 
past.  Relations  were  a  little  strained.  But  I  never 
gave  it  much  thought." 

"Would  Mr.  Dongan  have  consulted  Mr.  Riever 
about  his  speculations?"  asked  Pen. 

"Sure  I  Any  tip  that  Riever  let  drop  would  be  re* 
ceived  as  gospel." 

"How  about  that  stock  you  spoke  of?" 

"Union  Central?" 

"Do  you  suppose  Mr.  Riever  advised  Mr.  Dongan 
to  buy  it?" 

"Scarcely.  Scott  Riever's  on  the  Board  of  Union 
Central.  He'd  have  inside  information  if  anybody 
had." 

"But  suppose  Mr.  Riever  purposely  advised  him 
wrong." 

"Why  should  he?" 

"To  get  at  you  through  him." 

"Good  God!"  said  Don. 

There  was  a  silence  while  each  was  thinking  hard. 

"Wait  a  minute,"  said  Don.  "There's  a  flaw  in 
your  reasoning.  How  could  Riever  have  known  that 
Dongan  was  trying  to  put  it  off  on  me?" 

Pen  shrugged.  "Who  knows  what  may  have 
passed  between  the  two  men?  A  suggestion  may  have 
been  dropped." 

"I  have  itl"  cried  Don.  "Riever  could  easily  tell 
Dongan  to  put  the  orders  through  in  my  name  so  that 


Beside  the  Little  Temple  91 

it  would  not  be  guessed  that  the  tip  came  from  him. 
Everybody  knew  Riever  and  I  were  at  outs,  you  see." 

"Well  there  you  are,"  said  Pen. 

There  was  another  silence. 

"You  know  what  I  am  thinking,"  said  Pen  at  last. 

"My  God,  yes!"  said  Don.  "Me  too!  .  .  But  it's 
incredible !" 

"Somebody  shot  Collis  Dongan,"  said  Pen  simply. 
"Somebody  who  hated  you.  For  look  how  cleverly 
the  crime  has  been  fastened  on  you.  That  is  no  ac- 
cidental train  of  circumstances.  Your  revolver!  And 
somebody  keeps  sending  stuff  to  the  newspapers  that 
is  cunningly  designed  to  poison  the  public  mind  against 
you!" 

"But  how  could  Riever  get  away  with  it?"  asked 
Don  in  a  maze.  "He's  too  public  a  character.  Like 
some  sort  of  potentate  you  know.  He  never  goes  out 
alone.  Even  if  he  did  shake  his  body-guard,  every 
newsboy  on  the  street  would  recognize  him." 

"I  don't  suppose  he  did  it  himself,"  said  Pen.  "But 
with  his  money  he  could  easily  get  it  done,  couldn't  he? 
One  reads  of  such  things." 

"But  if  I  was  his  mark,  why  didn't  he  take  a  shot 
direct  at  me?"  said  Don. 

"That  wouldn't  satisfy  a  man  like  that,"  said  Pen. 
"Instant  death  is  painless." 

"But  what  do  you  know  about  Riever?"  asked  Don. 

"My  intuition  tells  me,"  she  said  simply.  "For 
years  he  has  been  jealous  of  you;  jealous  of  everything 
you  were  that  he  was  not.  It  was  like  a  corroding 
ulcer  in  his  breast.  That  letter  of  course  brought  it 
to  a  head.  .  .  .  Don't  you  see?  to  drag  you  down, 


92  Ramshackle  House 

to  disgrace  you  so  completely,  to  bring  you  to  such  an 
unspeakable  death,  that  is  the  only  thing  that  would 
give  him  satisfaction." 

"Good  God!  I  can't  grasp  such  fiendish  villainy!" 
cried  Don. 

"I  can,"  said  Pen  quietly.  "...  I  guess  my  soul  is 
older  than  yours." 

"Suppose  we're  right,"  said  Don.  "What  good? 
There  is  not  a  scintilla  of  evidence!" 

"He  showed  his  hand  once,"  said  Pen.  "In  offering 
that  reward.  Your  going  away  on  a  trip  was  the  one 
thing  he  couldn't  have  foreseen.  It  has  upset  all  his 
calculations." 

"The  reward  aroused  my  suspicions,"  said  Don. 
"But  it's  not  evidence." 

"We'll  get  evidence." 

"We're  up  against  it  all  right,"  said  Don  harshly. 
"What  is  known  as  the  Riever  group  in  New  York 
controls  a  billion  dollars,  I  guess." 

"Then  you're  satisfied  that  I  was  right,  aren't  you?" 
asked  Pen. 

"How  do  you  mean?" 

"If  you  gave  yourself  up  you'd  be  playing  directly 
into  Riever's  hands." 

Don  dropped  his  head  between  his  hands.  "You're 
right!"  he  groaned.  "But  good  God  I  how  am  I  going 
to  stand  it!" 

Poor  Pen!  Her  breast  yearned  over  him;  her  arms 
ached  to  enfold  him.  But  she  could  only  sit  there  like 
a  wooden  woman,  staring  at  the  ground.  There  was 
nothing  she  could  have  said  which  would  not  have  been 
a  mockery. 


Beside  the  Little  Temple  93 

He  said  at  last:  "I  ought  to  be  in  New  York." 

"It  would  be  impossible  to  make  the  trip  just  now," 
Pen  said  quickly.  "If  you  only  had  somebody  there 
to  act  for  you." 

"I  have  friends,  plenty  of  them,"  he  said  gloomily. 
"But  whom  could  I  trust  in  an  affair  of  this  sort?  It's 
not  their  loyalty  I  doubt,  but  their  good  sense  .  .  . 
Anyhow  how  could  I  get  my  side  of  the  case  before 
them?" 

"Couldn't  I  carry  messages  to  your  friends?"  asked 
Pen  diffidently.  "Perhaps  I  could  find  someone  com- 
petent to  act  for  you  .  .  .  Perhaps  I  could  get  ac- 
quainted with  Riever.  If  I  could  see  him  I'd  know. 
A  woman  might  discover  his  weak  spot  ..." 

"I  wouldn't  let  you  have  anything  to  do  with  Rie- 
ver," he  said  quickly.  "He's  a  swine  1" 

Pen  was  charmed  by  his  proprietary  air. 

"Besides  all  that  would  take  money,"  Don  went  on 
dejectedly.  "I  have  only  a  few  dollars.  A  check 
would  be  fatal." 

"Perhaps  I  could  find  the  money,"  murmured  Pen. 

"I  couldn't  let  you  do  that,"  he  said  painfully. 
"Please  don't  speak  of  it." 

"But  if  it  is  necessary!"  she  persisted.  "This  is  no 
time  for  the  silly  little  conventions  of  life.  We  must 
speak  of  it  again.  .  .  What  time  is  it?" 

He  flashed  a  pocket  light  on  his  watch.  "Two 
o'clock." 

Pen  rose.  "We  must  hurry,"  she  said.  "It  gets  light 
at  four  and  we've  a  long  way  to  go." 

"Where  are  we  going?"  he  asked. 

"To  the  main  woods,  up  the  Neck.    The  detectives 


94  Ramshackle  House 

and  the  reporters  are  housed  within  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  of  this  spot.  If  they  look  around  at  all  in  the 
morning  they  can't  help  but  discover  the  path  that 
leads  here.  Strangers  wouldn't  be  kept  off  by  the  bad 
reputation  of  the  place." 

"How  can  we  get  away  without  passing  them?" 
Don  asked.  "Give  me  some  idea  of  the  lie  of  the 
land." 

"The  woods  are  full  of  old  roads,"  said  Pen. 
"Since  I  was  a  child  I  have  been  exploring  them. 
Some  were  laid  out  by  my  grandfather  for  the  gentry 
to  drive  over.  Others  have  been  cut  for  the  purpose 
of  taking  out  logs.  Across  the  pond  there's  a  road 
comes  down  to  the  shore.  We  must  make  our  way  to 
that." 

Again  they  went  through  the  business  of  packing 
up.  In  a  few  minutes  they  were  ready  to  start.  With 
Don's  flashlight  Pen  searched  all  about  the  clearing 
to  make  sure  that  no  evidence  of  his  sojourn  had  been 
left  there.  Don  made  a  bundle  of  his  tent  and  tied 
it  on  his  back.  He  took  his  grub-basket  in  his  hand, 
and  stuck  his  hatchet  in  his  belt.  Pen  stuffed  his 
bundle  of  clothes  into  the  grass  bag  with  the  things 
she  had  brought.  They  started  down  to  the  water's 
edge. 

Don's  spirits  instantly  began  to  rise.  "I  feel  like  a 
human  being  again,"  he  said.  "Instead  of  a  caged 
rat." 

From  the  spring  Pen  struck  into  the  underbrush, 
using  Don's  flashlight  to  pick  her  way  slowly  and 
cautiously  through  the  tangle.  A  few  yards  back  from 
the  water's  edge  it  was  more  open. 


Beside  the  Little  Temple  95 

"We'll  leave  a  wide  open  track  behind  us  here," 
she  said,  "but  I  don't  suppose  those  New  York  de- 
tectives are  very  good  woodsmen." 

"Why  couldn't  we  wade  around  the  edge  of  the 
pond?"  he  asked. 

"The  bottom  is  soft.     We'd  sink  to  the  knees." 

Finally  they  struck  into  the  old  road  where  the 
going  was  easy.  They  could  walk  abreast. 

"When  Dad  sells  wood  they  haul  the  logs  down  here 
to  the  water's  edge  and  float  them  out  to  the  bay  at 
high  tide,"  said  Pen. 

She  warned  him  to  avoid  the  paler  spots  in  the  road. 
These  were  patches  of  sand.  "Doesn't  matter  so  much 
if  they  find  my  tracks,"  she  said,  "anybody  around  here 
would  tell  them  that  I  am  always  wandering." 

It  was  a  hot  still  night  with  distant  lightning.  Some- 
thing seemed  to  press  down  upon  them  from  above. 
The  woodsy  smell  compounded  of  leaf  mold  and  pine 
needles  was  extraordinarily  pungent.  The  silence 
under  the  trees  was  absolute.  Not  a  leaf  rustled,  not 
a  bird  cheeped,  not  an  insect  strummed.  Only  when 
they  paused  to  rest  could  they  hear  little  stealthy  stir- 
rings in  the  mold. 

"Mink  or  weasel,"  said  Pen. 

Though  they  had  now  put  their  enemies  far  behind 
them,  out  of  respect  for  the  great  silence  they  still 
talked  in  murmurs.  The  wild  creatures  were  less  sen- 
sitive. Once  they  heard  quite  close  the  sharp  bark  of  a 
fox,  and  again  from  farther  away  a  wild  laugh  came 
ringing. 

"What's  that?"  asked  Don  startled. 


96  Ramshackle  House 

"Loon,"  said  Pen.  "There's  another  pond  in  that 
direction." 

Little  by  little  they  became  one  with  the  night  and 
the  wildness;  their  worldly  concerns  slipped  off;  their 
breasts  were  light.  It  was  enough  merely  to  smell 
and  to  hear;  to  stretch  their  muscles. 

"Why  do  people  live  in  houses?"  said  Don. 

"Poor  things!     They  know  no  better,"  said  Pen. 

More  than  once  the  road  forked  but  Pen  always 
made  her  choice  unhesitatingly. 

"How  can  you  be  so  sure  in  the  dark?"  he  asked. 

"I  just  have  a  general  notion,"  she  laughed.  "We 
couldn't  go  far  wrong.  The  Bay  is  on  one  side  of  us, 
the  fields  on  the  other." 

After  a  long  walk  they  came  suddenly  to  the  edge 
of  the  woods.  A  rail  fence  divided  woodland  and 
clearing.  There  was  a  barred  opening  into  the  field. 
Pen  dropped  her  bag  on  the  other  side  and  vaulted 
over  like  a  boy.  Don  more  heavily  encumbered  had  to 
climb  over.  On  the  other  side  some  dim  shapes  rose 
awkwardly  in  the  grass  and  trotted  away. 

"My  sheep,"  said  Pen.  "I  know  where  we  are.  I 
mended  that  fence  myself  to  keep  them  from  straying." 

At  one  step  they  had  entered  the  civilized  world 
again.  Up  the  river  the  steamboat  blew  for  a  wharf, 
and  they  could  hear  from  far-off  the  barking  of  a  dog, 
and  all  those  vague  little  sounds  that  rise  from  a 
peopled  land  at  night.  The  field  was  populous  with 
crickets  and  the  wide  space  was  made  lovely  by 
myriad  fire-flies  floating  about  like  vagrant  stars.  The 
field  was  a  broad  one,  and  the  going  rough  underfoot. 
Young  pine  trees  were  springing  up  everywhere. 


Beside  the  Little  Temple  97 

"Hanged  if  I  know  where  I  am,"  said  Don. 

"We're  facing  north  now,"  said  Pen.  "That  pale 
glow  in  the  clouds  is  the  reflection  of  the  lights  of 
Washington,  seventy  miles  from  here." 

"Fancy  the  Nation's  capital  .  .  .  and  this!"  said 
Don. 

"That  bunchy  black  shadow  away  off  to  the  left 
is  the  grove  of  tall  trees  that  surrounds  our  house. 
We  have  circled  round  it  you  see.  The  long  line  on 
the  right  is  the  main  woods  which  fills  the  whole  Neck 
for  miles  above.  All  our  fields  lie  on  this  side.  The 
woods  are  gradually  taking  them  back." 

"If  you  put  me  in  those  woods  will  I  ever  see  you 
again?"  he  asked  apprehensively. 

"Oh,  it's  not  much  more  than  a  mile  from  the  house. 
That's  nothing." 

They  came  to  another  fence  with  a  barred  opening, 
and  climbing  over  found  themselves  in  a  road. 

"What  road  is  this?"  asked  Don. 

"There's  only  the  one  road,"  Pen  said.  "It  runs 
back  from  the  house  between  the  fields  and  on  through 
the  woods  up  the  Neck."  She  hesitated  painfully. 
"What  time  is  it?" 

The  question  brought  back  everything  painful  that 
they  had  put  out  of  mind  for  awhile.  Their  hearts 
went  down  together.  He  threw  the  light  on  his  watch. 

"Half-past  three,"  he  said. 

"Ah!"  said  Pen  with  a  catch  in  her  breath,  "I  dare 
not  go  any  farther  with  you.  It  will  be  light  in  half 
an  hour.  Do  you  think  you  could  carry  everything 
the  rest  of  the  way?" 


98  Ramshackle  House 

"Sure,  as  far  as  that  goes.  But  .  .  .  but  must  you 
go?" 

"I  must!  .  .  .  Listen  I  You  arc  to  keep  along  the 
road  until  it  enters  the  woods.  It  dips  into  a  hollow 
there  and  fords  a  small  stream.  You  are  to  turn  to 
the  left  there — to  the  left,  remember,  and  ascend  the 
stream,  walking  in  the  water.  It  has  a  firm  sandy 
bottom,  at  least  for  a  certain  distance.  As  soon  as 
you  are  out  of  sight  of  the  road,  better  stop  on  the 
bank  until  it  is  light,  so  you  won't  mire  yourself  or 
step  in  a  hole." 

He  put  out  his  hand  to  her.  "When  will  I  see  you 
again?" 

"You  arc  not  listening!  .  .  .  You  must  keep  on  up 
the  stream  until  you  come  to  a  clearing  on  the  right- 
hand  side.  Up  at  the  top  of  the  rise  there  used  to  be 
a  negro  cabin.  But  it  burned  down.  Only  the  chimney 
is  standing.  Don't  pitch  your  tent  in  the  clearing.  It 
would  be  too  conspicuous.  Conceal  it  in  the  brush 
across  the  stream.  I  can  reach  you  there  direct  from 
the  fields.  If  I  can't  find  you  I'll  whistle  like  a  whip- 
poor-will.  And  you  answer." 

"When  will  you   come?" 

"To-morrow  night.     Unless  I  am  prevented." 

"Oh  I  .  .  if  you  are  prevented  .   .  1" 

Pen  laughed  shakily.  "Not  much  danger !  They'll 
have  to  be  very  clever  to  keep  me  in  I" 

He  clung  to  her  hand.  "Well  .  .  I'm  not  going  to 
complain,"  he  muttered. 

Pen  clasped  his  hand  in  both  of  hers.  "Oh,  I 
know  how  hard  it  isl  How  hard!"  she  cried.  "Try 
to  be  patient.  It  may  not  be  for  long!" 


Beside  the  Little  Temple  99 

"It  can  not  be  for  long,"  he  muttered.  "A  man  has 
his  limits!" 

"The  search  may  drift  away  from  Broome's  Point," 
she  said  eagerly.  "Anything  may  happen.  .  .  .  To- 
morrow night  when  I  come  I'll  bring  you  some  books." 

"Books!"  he  exclaimed  scornfully. 

"Well  anyway  at  night  we  can  wander  around  where 
we  please." 

"If  you  work  all  day  you've  got  to  have  your  sleep 
at  night,"  he  said  doggedly. 

"Sleep!"  said  Pen.  "I've  got  all  the  rest  of  my 
life  to  sleep  in  I" 

He  was  still  clinging  to  her  hand.  "It's  so  hard 
to  let  you  go,"  he  murmured.  "Could  you  .  .  .  Oh, 
I  know  I  haven't  any  right  to  ask  it  ...  .  .  in  my 
position  ..." 

Pen  hated  his  humility.  She  stamped  her  foot. 
"Any  right!  What's  your  position  got  to  do  with  it?" 

His  head  went  up  with  a  jerk.    "Pen !"  he  cried. 

Pen  was  plain  panic-stricken.  "Good-night  I"  she 
said,  jerking  her  hand  free.  "The  sky  is  getting  light 
behind  you  I" 

She  all  but  ran  down  the  road.  Once  she  looked 
behind  her.  He  was  still  standing  there.  If  he  had 
called  her  she  would  have  had  to  go  back,  let  the  dawn 
break  if  it  would.  But  he  heavily  shouldered  his  pack, 
and  turned  in  the  other  direction. 

At  the  breakfast  table  next  morning  Pen  suddenly 
interrupted  her  father's  endless,  querulous  complaints 
by  saying:  "Well,  how  about  me?" 

He  stared.    "Hey?"  he  said  blankly. 


ioo  Ramshackle  House 

"Do  you  suppose  I'm  enjoying  the  present  situa- 
tion? Stared  at,  spied  upon,  my  house  overrun  with 
riff-raff!  It's  intolerable!" 

"Of  course!  ...  Of  course!"  he  stammered. 
"That's  just  what's  troubling  me." 

"I  want  to  go  away  until  it  blows  over,"  said  Pen. 

Pendleton  looked  scared.  "But  .  .  but  would  they 
allow  you  to?" 

"Pooh!"  said  Pen.  "That  threat  of  arrest  was  just 
a  bluff." 

"Where  would  you  go?" 

"Oh  .    .    .   anywhere." 

"I  haven't  the  money,"  he  said  plaintively. 

"I'd  pay  my  own." 

That  old  look  of  suspicion  flickered  up  in  his  eyes. 
"Where  would  you  get  it?" 

"Well  ...  I  could  sell  my  sheep." 

"Sell  your  sheep!"  he  echoed.  "Why  .  .  pre- 
posterous! Why  the  sheep  are  the  best  part  of  our 
capital  I" 

"My  capital,"  corrected  Pen. 

"Certainly,"  he  said  stiffly.  "But  I'm  your  father 
J  suppose.  I  have  a  right  to  prevent  you  doing  any- 
thing so  foolhardy.  Just  to  gratify  a  momentary  im- 
pulse. I  forbid  you  to  think  of  such  a  thing!  Never 
speak  of  it  again!" 

"Oh,  all  right,"  said  Pen,  dropping  the  matter  so 
quickly  that  a  more  perspicacious  man  might  have 
guessed  she  had  not  dropped  it  at  all.  As  a  matter 
of  fact  as  soon  as  breakfast  was  over  she  took  the  Sun- 
paper  to  her  room  and  looked  up  the  quotations  for 
sheep  and  lambs  on  the  Baltimore  market.  Prices  were 


Beside  the  Little  Temple         101 

low,  but  there  was  no  help  for  it.  She  fell  to  study- 
ing ways  and  means. 

Later  she  was  moving  about  the  house  setting 
things  to  rights  and  always  planning,  planning,  when 
she  heard  a  musical  deep-toned  ship's  whistle  from  the 
river — the  whistle  of  a  stranger  in  those  waters.  She 
ran  to  the  front  windows  and  beheld  a  big  yacht  com- 
ing in  from  the  bay.  She  was  as  slim  and  sheer  as 
a  pickerel  with  a  piratical  rake  to  her  masts  and 
funnel.  The  morning  sun  showed  up  her  mahogany 
upper-works  as  red  as  blood,  and  dazzlingly  picked 
out  her  polished  brasses.  A  beauty!  An  anchor  was 
let  go  with  a  mighty  rattling  of  chain,  and  the  yacht 
slowly  came  about  in  the  stream. 

Pen  knew  by  intuition  that  her  coming  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  the  matter  that  filled  all  their  minds, 
but  pride  forbade  her  running  out  of  the  house  to 
find  out.  With  a  great  effort  of  will  she  kept  on 
about  her  work,  possessing  her  soul  in  what  patience 
she  could. 

Bye  and  bye  there  was  a  rat-tat-tat  on  the  seldom- 
used  knocker  on  the  front  door.  Opening  it,  Pen  be- 
held a  ship's  officer  in  natty  blue  uniform  and  gold 
braid.  He  took  off  his  cap  and  offered  her  a  note. 

It  was  addressed  to  herself.  It  was  written  on 
thick  creamy  paper  embossed  with  a  crest  and  the 
legend:  "Yacht  Alexandra"  It  was  brief. 

"Mr.  Ernest  Riever  presents  his  compliments  to 
Miss  Pendleton  Broome,  and  begs  to  know  if  it  will 
be  convenient  for  her  to  receive  him  this  morning." 

Pen's  brain  whirled.  She  lowered  her  eyes  and 
gave  herself  five  seconds  to  regain  her  balance.  Finally 


102  Ramshackle  House 

the  suspicion  of  a  dimple  appeared  at  the  corner 
of  her  lips.  She  looked  up. 

"Please  tell  Mr.  Riever  that  I  shall  be  happy  to 
see  him  at  any  time." 

She  went  slowly  upstairs  to  change  her  dress. 

The  sheep  were  saved ! 


CHAPTER  V 

ON   BOARD  THE    ALEXANDRA 

UNDER  the  awning  on  the  after  deck  of  the 
Alexandra,  Pen  was  reclining  in  a  luxurious 
basket  chair  with  her  feet  crossed  on  a  rest  in  front  of 
her.  Her  brow  was  clear,  her  lips  smiling.  To  have 
seen  her  then,  one  would  never  have  guessed  that  she 
had  anything  more  on  her  mind  than  the  deliciousness 
of  luxury  which  she  was  experiencing  for  the  first  time 
in  her  life.  As  a  matter  of  fact  being  a  human,  pretty 
girl  she  took  to  it  like  a  cat  to  cream,  but  just  the 
same  there  was  a  lot  hidden  behind  her  seeming  open 
smile.  She  knew  that  she  looked  all  right.  Poor  as 
they  were,  in  Aunt  Maria  Pen  possessed  a  laundress, 
one  of  a  fast-disappearing  race,  and  there  was  a 
bloom  upon  her  simple  gingham  dress  that  matched 
the  flower-like  freshness  of  herself.  It  was  mid-morn- 
ing but  Pen's  undone  chores  troubled  her  not  a  bit. 

The  Alexandra  had  been  lying  inside  Broome's 
Point  for  two  days.  On  the  first  day  Riever  had 
lunched  with  the  Broomes;  yesterday  he  had  re- 
turned their  hospitality.  Of  the  two  Pen's  food  wat 
undoubtedly  better,  being  fresher  than  the  million- 
aire's, but  she  had  tasted  with  delight  all  the  ex- 
pensive things  she  had  read  about  which  never  came 
to  Southern  Maryland:  Caviare,  petite  marmitc,  pate 
de  fois  gras,  hothouse  grapes,  marrons,  etc.  Thi» 

103 


104  Ramshackle  House 

norning  Riever  had  insisted  on  having  the  Broomes 
to  breakfast  on  the  yacht. 

A  few  feet  from  Pen  the  owner  of  it  all  was  sitting 
on  the  wide  divan  that  encircled  the  stern  rail.  Pen- 
dleton  Broome  sat  beside  him,  and  on  the  deck  be- 
tween the  two  men  stood  a  little  table  bearing  coffee 
cups  and  a  box  of  such  cigars  as  the  elder  man  had 
never  whiffed  before  even  in  dreams.  Pendleton  was 
holding  forth  to  Riever  in  his  usual  style,  while  the 
millionaire  listening  politely,  glanced  at  Pen  out  of 
the  corners  of  his  eyes. 

The  coming  of  Riever  had  changed  the  situation 
not  a  little.  Riever  moved  like  an  unacknowledged 
monarch.  The  tale  of  his  wealth  compelled  men's 
homage.  In  his  presence  all  voices  were  prone  to  be- 
come silky  and  backs  to  bend.  Riever  like  many  an- 
other monarch  despised  this  homage  while  he  insisted 
on  it.  His  more  intimate  creatures  therefore  were  care- 
ful to  cultivate  an  offhand,  man-to-man  air  towards 
their  master  while  they  utterly  subordinated  their 
souls  to  his.  This  just  suited  him. 

Well,  Riever  being  what  he  was,  he  had  only  to 
drop  a  suggestion  to  Delehanty  the  chief  detective 
to  have  all  surveillance  removed  from  over  Pen's 
actions.  She  was  now  free  to  come  and  go  as  she 
chose.  Of  course  nothing  further  had  been  said  of  the 
proposed  warrant  for  her  arrest.  Delehanty  had  be- 
come as  obsequious  towards  her  as  he  had  previously 
been  arrogant. 

A  curious  relation  existed  between  Pen  and  the 
millionaire.  From  the  first  he  had  been  most  courte- 
ous, but  in  the  beginning  it  had  been  dictated  merely 


On  Board  the  Alexandra         105 

by  motives  of  policy.  He  could  see  a  little  further 
than  the  clumsy  Delehanty,  that  was  all.  Pen  recog- 
nized in  him  an  adversary  infinitely  more  dangerous. 
But  he  had  changed.  The  second  time  she  saw  him 
she  became  aware  that  she  had  a  power  over  him.  In 
short  he  was  powerfully  attracted.  Pen  marveled 
at  it.  Riever,  who  presumably  had  only  to  pick  and 
choose  from  among  the  beauties  of  the  world!  But 
though  she  could  not  understand  how  it  had  come 
about,  she  rejoiced  in  her  power,  and  had  no 
scruples  whatever  against  using  it. 

To  anyone  else  beside  Pen  the  explanation  would 
have  been  obvious  enough.  It  is  all  very  well  to  buy 
yourself  royally  through  a  world  of  salable  women,  but 
it  lays  you  open  to  a  dangerous  weakness.  When  you 
meet  a  woman  who  is  obviously  not  for  sale,  you  are 
apt  to  fall  down  before  her  most  ignominiously.  That 
was  what  had  happened  to  Riever.  Just  because  he 
was  so  rich  Pen  had  instinctively  adopted  an  inde- 
pendent air  towards  him  that  piqued  him  intolerably. 
Really  independent.  Then  there  was  that  highly  in- 
dividual charm  of  hers.  And  her  independence  was  not 
indifference.  With  all  his  experience  Riever  had  never 
met  a  woman  like  Pen.  Or  perhaps  it  would  be  more 
correct  to  say  that  a  woman  of  Pen's  spirit  and  trans- 
parent honesty  had  never  before  taken  an  interest  in 
the  ugly  little  man. 

When  she  was  with  Riever  it  need  hardly  be  said 
that  Pen  was  not  nearly  so  honest  as  she  seemed.  In 
fact  she  concealed  herself  behind  her  apparent  frank- 
ness. That  is  the  great  advantage  of  having  a  naturally 
honest  look.  It  enables  you  to  lie  so  well  when  you 


106  Ramshackle  House 

have  a  real  need  of  lying.  Since  Riever  had  arrived 
the  two  had  been  almost  constantly  together,  and  a 
sort  of  subtle  duel  going  on  between  them.  Pen's 
object  was  to  encourage  him  without  giving  of  herself. 
He  was  the  first  man  she  had  ever  set  out  to  encourage. 
It  was  a  sufficiently  intoxicating  experience  for  the 
man.  Pen's  blandishments  were  very  different  from 
the  sort  that  Riever  had  been  accustomed  to. 

As  for  Pen's  father  he  had  swallowed  the  lure  of 
luxury,  hook,  bait  and  sinker.  At  this  moment  but- 
toned up  to  the  neck  in  his  old  Prince  Albert  he  seemed 
to  be  perspiring  satisfaction.  He  had  come  into  the 
sort  of  life  that  he  regarded  as  his  own.  To  see  him 
stretch  his  arm  over  the  stern  rail  and  flick  the  ash 
off  the  expensive  cigar  with  his  little  finger  was  a  treat. 
Pendleton  Broome  was  the  sort  of  man  who  will 
always  be  flattered  because  he  asked  for  it  so  plainly. 
It  was  Riever's  cue  to  encourage  him  to  the  utmost. 
After  his  first  meeting  with  the  millionaire  Pendleton 
had  said  to  Pen : 

"I  find  I  have  not  rusted  out  in  my  solitude.  I  can 
still  keep  my  end  up  with  men  of  the  world.  Riever 
listens  to  me  with  the  most  respectful  attention." 

Pen  had  smiled  to  herself  without  answering. 

More  had  passed  between  the  two  men  than  Pen  was 
is  yet  aware  of.  She  knew  that  Riever  had  promised 
to  look  into  the  matter  of  the  Broome's  Point  rail- 
way, thus  raising  her  father's  hopes  to  the  skies,  but 
she  did  not  know  that  Riever  had  actually  purchased 
half  a  dozen  lots  adjacent  to  the  proposed  terminal 
and  that  the  inside  packet  of  the  old  Prince  Albert  was 
at  this  moment  crackling  with  greenbacks. 


On  Board  the  Alexandra         107 

Pendleton  was  saying  self-importantly :  "The  origi- 
nal grade  of  the  railway  issues  from  the  gully  yonder. 
The  plan  was  to  build  a  long  dock  straight  out  to 
deep  water.  But  there's  a  shoal  off  the  gully.  My 
plan  would  be  to  have  the  tracks  turn  along  the  shore 
to  a  point  below  the  house  where  they  could  build  all 
the  docks  they  wanted  right  into  deep  water." 

Riever  gave  him  only  as  much  attention  as  was 
needed  to  keep  him  going.  "But  that  would  ruin  the 
outlook  from  your  house,"  he  suggested  idly. 

"Oh,  I  shall  not  remain  here  after  the  railway 
comes,"  said  Pendleton  loftily.  "I'd  take  an  apart- 
ment in  New  York,  and  perhaps  a  house  in  Newport." 

"Newport  is  not  what  it  was,"  remarked  Riever. 

"Ah,  the  vulgar  have  taken  possession  I  suppose," 
said  Pendleton.  "My  father  had  a  place  there.  My 
childish  recollections  of  it  are  most  pleasant." 

"People  are  scattered  all  over  the  map  nowadays," 
said  Riever. 

"That  I  presume  is  due  to  the  introduction  of  the 
automobile,"  said  Pendleton.  He  launched  into  a  dis- 
cussion of  automobiles  of  which  he  knew  nothing. 

Riever  listening  gravely,  sent  a  quizzical  glance  in 
Pen's  direction.  But  Pen  was  not  to  be  tempted  into 
making  common  cause  with  him  against  her  father. 
She  looked  blandly  ahead  of  her. 

Pendleton  himself  delivered  them  from  boredom. 
He  had  observed  Riever's  interest  in  his  daughter 
and  was  not  without  his  hopes  in  that  direction  too. 
By  and  by  he  rose  saying  with  a  self-conscious  air: 

"...  Er  ...  I  have  some  important  letters  to  get 


io8  Ramshackle  House 

off  this  afternoon.  If  you'd  be  good  enough  to  put 
me  ashore  Riever.  You  needn't  hurry  daughter,"' 

Under  other  circumstances  Pen  would  have  been 
deeply  affronted  by  his  transparent  ruse.  But  as  has 
been  said,  in  this  affair  she  had  no  conscience.  She 
allowed  it  to  be  seen  that  she  had  no  intention  of 
moving. 

Riever  made  haste  to  summon  the  boat.  Pendleton 
went  down  the  ladder  in  his  absurd  three  seasons'  straw 
hat,  bobbing  his  head  and  waving  his  hand  airily. 
Towards  the  sailors  his  air  of  mingled  condescension 
and  goodfellowship  was  delicious. 

Pen  glanced  at  Riever  through  her  lashes  as  he  re- 
turned to  her.  The  little  man  held  himself  stiffly 
in  his  blue  yachting  togs  and  walked  with  a  suggestion 
of  a  strut.  The  greatest  tailor  in  the  world  could  not 
endow  his  meager  frame  with  beauty  or  grace,  but 
it  was  not  to  be  denied  that  his  wonderfully  made 
clothes  lent  him  a  certain  distinction. 

He  patted  the  cushions  of  that  wonderful  divan  that 
encircled  the  stern.  "Wouldn't  you  be  more  comfort- 
able here?" 

"Impossible  I"  drawled  Pen. 

"A  cigarette?" 

"Never  learned  how,"  she  saicj.  "I'll  make  my  first 
trials  in  private." 

"I'll  send  you  a  box." 

He  sat  down  and  feasted  his  eyes  on  her  openly. 

He  was  no  beauty.  His  face  was  a  little  reddened 
and  roughened  with  incipient  erysipelas.  Don  had 
said  that  he  and  Riever  were  of  the  same  age,  but  the 
millionaire  might  have  been  of  any  age  between  twenty- 


On  Board  the  Alexandra         109 

five  and  forty-five;  there  was  no  look  of  youth  about 
him.  He  was  redeemed  from  insignificance  by  his  as- 
sured habit  of  command.  Yet  his  assurance  did  not 
go  very  deep.  Pen  had  discovered  that  he  might  quite 
easily  be  put  out  of  countenance,  only  nobody  ever 
tried  it.  When  he  chose  as  at  present,  he  could  be  most 
agreeable,  but  there  was  always  a  pained  roll  to  his 
eyes,  such  as  may  be  seen  in  the  eyes  of  a  bad-tempered 
horse,  a  look  that  boded  no  good  to  his  underlings. 

A  curious  thing  was  that  in  their  endless  conversa- 
tions Don  Counsell  was  never  referred  to  but  in  the 
most  casual  manner.  Each  had  a  secret  to  guard  here. 
Pen  kept  her  secret  better  than  the  man  did.  Riever 
wished  it  to  be  supposed  that  he  had  just  happened 
in  at  Broome's  Point  on  his  yacht.  That  his  coming 
at  this  time  had  only  the  slightest  connection  with  the 
pursuit  of  Don  Counsell,  Pen  knew  better  of  course. 
On  every  hand  she  gathered  evidence  that  Riever  was 
the  head  and  front  of  the  pursuit.  Riever  was  the 
secret  source  of  the  hideous  clamor  raised  against  the 
man  Pen  knew  to  be  innocent.  Twenty  times  a  day 
Riever  gave  himself  away  to  her  love-sharpened  eyes — 
but  it  was  not  evidence ! 

Meanwhile  they  fenced  with  each  other. 

"You  should  not  encourage  Dad  in  his  delusions," 
said  Pen. 

"You  mean  about  the  railway?"  said  Riever.  "I 
could  put  in  through  with  a  nod  of  my  head  if  I  chose." 

"But  you  won't,"  she  said. 

"How  do  you  know  I  won't?" 

"You  are  so  clearly  only  humoring  him." 


no  Ramshackle  House 

"Good  Heavens!"  he  said  in  mock  dismay.  "Do 
you  undertake  to  read  men?" 

"I  don't  undertake  it,"  said  Pen.  "You  can't  help 
seeing  what  you  see." 

"I  could  put  it  through,"  he  said  again,  "if  there 
was  sufficient  incentive." 

"Of  course,"  said  Pen.    And  let  the  matter  drop. 

He  was  trying  to  make  her  beg  for  the  railway. 
What  most  fascinated  and  provoked  him  in  her  was 
his  inability  to  make  her  ask  him  for  anything,  or  take 
anything  from  him.  Everybody  else  in  the  world 
asked  him  for  things  one  way  or  another. 

He  presently  went  on:  "That's  the  trouble  with 
life  to  a  man  like  me:  I  have  no  particular  incentive 
to  do  anything." 

Pen  refused  to  recognize  his  money.  "Why  haven't 
you  the  same  incentive  as  other  men?"  she  demanded 
to  know. 

"What  arc  men's  principal  incentives?"  he  parried. 

"Well,  love,  ambition,  the  desire  to  excel  other  men, 
I  suppose." 

"Yes,  one  could  go  far  for  love,"  he  said  with  a 
sidelong  look. 

Pen  without  looking  at  him  was  aware  of  the  look. 
She  thought:  "Men  are  funny!  He's  trying  to  make 
me  philander  with  him  in  a  crude  way,  and  if  I  did 
he'd  weary  of  me  immediately  I" 

It  was  Riever's  desire  to  shine  in  her  eyes  that  fre- 
quently betrayed  him.  She  was  not  impressed  by  his 
wealth;  very  well,  he  had  to  find  some  way  of  making 
himself  out  a  remarkable  figure.  He  presently  said 
with  a  casual  air: 


On  Board  the  Alexandra         ill 

"How  about  hate  as  an  incentive?" 

Pen  pricked  up  her  ears.  She  answered  as  casually 
as  he:  "I  always  thought  of  hate  as  destroying  a  man 
instead  of  nerving  him  to  do  things." 

"Not  at  all,"  he  said.  "Hate  will  carry  a  man  as 
f?r  as  love — or  farther."  His  feelings  got  the  better 
of  him.  He  forgot  his  casual  air.  "There's  more 
in  hate  than  love!"  he  went  on  with  glittering  eyes. 
"Men  get  tired  of  loving,  but  never  of  hating.  There's 
more  pleasure  in  hate  because  you  never  can  entirely 
possess  your  lover,  but  you  can  destroy  your  enemy! 
.  .  .  Do  I  horrify  you?"  he  asked  with  a  sudden 
harsh  laugh. 

"Not  in  the  least,"  said  Pen  coolly.  "Nothing  of 
that  sort  horrifies  me,  though  I  might  hare  to  make 
believe  to  be  horrified." 

"Not  with  me,"  he  said,  showing  his  yellow  teeth. 

"It  is  comfortable  not  to  have  to  make  pretenses," 
Pen  said.  That  was  as  near  as  she  could  come  to  phi- 
landering. 

"I  believe  you'd  make  a  good  hater,"  he  hazarded. 

"Maybe,"  said  Pen.  "I've  never  had  the  experi- 
ence like  you." 

An  instinct  of  caution  occurred  to  him.  "Oh,  you 
mustn't  take  me  too  literally,"  he  said  laughing.  "I 
haven't  anybody  to  hate  at  present.  But  I  have  the 
capacity." 

It  was  too  late.  His  glittering  eyes  had  reminded 
Pen  of  Don's  phrase:  a  poisonous  look.  It  was  pre- 
cious evidence  to  her  heart,  but  unfortunately  not  the 
sort  of  evidence  she  could  take  into  court. 

She  was  reluctant  to  drop  the  subject  of  hatred. 


112  Ramshackle  House 

"The  Borgias  were  good  haters,"  she  hazarded.  "I 
lately  read  a  story  which  told  how  Alexander  Borgia 
caused  a  bed  to  be  made  for  his  enemies.  It  was  so 
arranged  that  when  a  body  warmed  it  it  killed  like  a 
hammer-stroke." 

"A  fanciful  tale,"  said  Riever.  "All  the  killing 
poisons  I  ever  heard  of  have  to  be  introduced  into  the 
stomach,  the  blood  or  the  lungs." 

He  spoke  as  one  who  knows,  and  Pen,  wondering, 
pursued  the  subject  with  further  questions.  It  was 
like  tapping  a  hidden  spring  in  the  man.  With  a  curi- 
ous relish  he  described  the  action  of  various  poisons 
on  the  human  system. 

"Cyanide  is  the  neatest,"  he  said,  "There's  your 
hammer-stroke." 

Pen  thought:  "Has  he  tried  that  too?  ...  Collis 
Dongan  was  shot  I" 

She  betrayed  nothing  in  her  face,  but  Riever  sud- 
denly, with  an  uneasy  glance,  was  impelled  to  explain 
how  he  came  by  so  much  knowledge.  "You  see  my 
hobby  is  raising  fruit,"  he  said.  "My  peaches  have 
scores  of  enemies;  suckers,  chewers,  fungi  and  bacilli. 
I  have  to  study  to  keep  ahead  of  them." 

But  he  had  been  talking  of  the  human  system  I 

She  couldn't  appear  to  pin  him  down  of  course.  She 
had  to  let  him  range  where  he  would,  contenting  her- 
self with  giving  the  talk  a  little  push  this  way  or  that 
when  the  opportunity  offered.  She  encouraged  him 
to  talk  of  his  childhood  and  youth,  to  which  he  was 
nothing  loath.  He  unconsciously  drew  her  a  picture 
of  a  willful,  jealous,  destructive  boy,  a  little  monument 
of  selfishness.  There  was  a  bad  crack  in  his  nature. 


On  Board  the  Alexandra          113 

He  hated  beauty,  moral  and  physical,  but  particularly 
physical  beauty.  Pen  marked  the  pained  sneer  with 
which  his  eyes  followed  the  stalwart  young  steward 
who  carried  away  the  cups.  Riever  had  to  have  hand- 
some servants  to  maintain  his  position,  but  their  come- 
liness was  a  perpetual  reproach  to  him.  No  wonder 
he  had  hated  Don  Counsell  from  the  first,  Pen  thought. 
She  guessed  darkly  that  Riever  was^the  kind  that 
pursues  beautiful  women  only  to  hurt  them. 

He  had  been  telling  her  with  a  laugh  of  the  tor- 
ments to  which  new  boys  were  subjected  in  the  fash- 
ionable school  he  had  attended.  One  poor  little  wretch 
it  appeared  had  been  driven  by  his  persecutors  to  the 
point  of  attempting  suicide. 

"Weren't  you  sorry  then?"  asked  Pen. 

"No !"  he  said.  "I  had  to  go  through  the  mill  when 
I  came.  It  wasn't  my  fault  that  this  kid  had  a  soft 
streak  in  him.  Besides  conscience  is  only  another  name 
for  weak-mindedness.  I  made  up  my  mind  early  that 
I'd  never  be  sorry  for  anything  I  did.  A  strong  man 
laughs  at  conscience." 

Pen  thought:    "Funny  kind  of  strength!" 

This  was  all  very  well  but  what  good  did  it  do  her? 
They  might  talk  for  a  month  of  mornings  without  her 
getting  any  further.  And  she  had  not  a  day  to  spare. 
How  was  she  to  get  facts?  The  obvious  thing  would 
be  to  bribe  his  servants,  to  have  his  effects  searched 
and  so  on.  This  was  impossible  for  Pen.  She  was 
ready  to  despair  of  ever  bridging  the  chasm  between 
surmise  and  fact. 

The  motor-boat  which  had  taken  Pendleton  ashore, 
had  proceeded  on  to  the  Island  for  the  mail.  It  was 


H4  Ramshackle  House 

now  to  be  seen  returning.  This  was  Riever's  own 
private  mail  service.  On  the  day  of  his  coming,  de- 
ciding that  the  regular  mail  was  too  slow,  he  had  in- 
stituted a  double  automobile  service  between  Absolom's 
Island  and  Baltimore.  Twice  a  day  by  this  means  he 
received  his  letters  and  the  New  York  papers,  par- 
ticularly the  papers.  Pen  had  already  marked  with 
what  a  curious  eagerness  he  awaited  the  New  York 
papers. 

When  the  mail-bag  was  brought  to  him  now  he 
said  after  a  momentary  hesitation: 

"Put  it  in  the  saloon." 

Pen  noted  the  eager  roll  of  his  eyes  towards  the 
bag.  There  was  something  in  there  that  he  desired 
to  see  even  more  than  he  wished  to  cultivate  her  com- 
pany. With  the  idea  of  seeing  the  thing  through,  she 
said  carelessly : 

"May  I  sec  a  New  York  paper?" 

"Certainly,"  he  said,  and  had  the  bag  brought  back. 
It  was  emptied  out  on  the  seat  beside  him.  He 
handed  Pen  a  paper. 

She  opened  it  and  feigned  to  read.  At  first  he  made 
believe  to  ignore  the  balance  of  the  contents  of  the 
bag,  and  sat  there  as  if  awaiting  her  pleasure.  But 
he  was  uneasy.  His  feet  moved;  his  hands  twitched. 
Finally  as  Pen  showed  no  signs  of  losing  interest  in 
her  sheet,  he  picked  up  another  paper  and  opened  it 
with  hands  that  trembled  a  little. 

Pen  found  that  she  could  not  watch  him  from  where 
she  sat.  He  held  his  paper  up  between  them.  She 
lowered  hers  and  rose.  He  was  all  attention. 


On  Board  the  Alexandra         115 

"This  hasn't  got  what  I  want?"  she  said.  "May  I 
see  another?" 

Without  waiting  for  him  to  hand  it  to  her  she  picked 
up  another  paper  and  seated  herself  on  the  divan  with 
only  the  mail  matter  between  them.  From  this  point 
of  vantage  she  could  watch  him  very  well  without  ap- 
pearing to. 

He  glanced  over  his  sheet  and  she  over  hers. 
"Glancing,"  however,  does  not  convey  the  strained 
intentness  with  which  he  was  searching  the  news 
columns.  Pen  observed  at  once  that  it  was  not  the 
Counsell  case  that  interested  him.  That  still  occupied 
the  most  prominent  position  on  the  first  page  but  his 
eyes  merely  skated  over  it.  It  was  something  else  he 
was  looking  for.  He  turned  the  page  and  his  intent 
eyes  traveled  it  column  by  column. 

On  the  third  page  they  came  to  a  stop.  Pen  saw 
his  grasp  tighten  on  the  paper  until  the  edges  of  his 
thumb  nails  turned  white.  A  little  knot  of  muscle 
stood  out  on  his  jaw.  Unfortunately  Pen  could  not 
see  his  eyes,  but  from  the  extraordinary  tenseness  of 
his  attitude  she  guessed  the  look  in  them.  Whatever 
it  was  he  read  it  was  brief.  He  relaxed;  a  long  breath 
escaped  him.  He  let  the  paper  fall  and  turned  to  Pen. 
There  was  a  new  brightness  in  his  face.  Certain  lines 
of  anxiety  were  smoothed  out.  Cynical  satisfaction 
was  writ  large  there.  He  all  but  laughed  in  his  relief. 
He  made  no  further  pretense  of  reading  the  paper,  but 
lit  a  fresh  cigar  and  cocking  it  up  between  his  lips 
puffed  away  like  a  man  well  pleased  with  the  world. 

As  well  as  she  could  Pen  had  marked  in  her  mind 
the  spot  on  the  third  page  where  his  glance  had  rested. 


n6  Ramshackle  House 

It  was  the  New  York  Courier  he  was  reading.  She 
had  to  be  careful  not  to  betray  her  hand.  She  made 
believe  to  go  on  searching  through  the  paper  she  had. 
Finally  she  let  it  fall. 

"It's  not  here  either,"  she  said. 

"What's  that?"  asked  Riever  comfortably. 

"One  of  the  New  York  papers  has  a  fashion  depart- 
ment they  call  'A  Daily  Hint  from  Paris'.  But  I  don't 
know  which  one  it  is." 

"Can't  say  that  I  ever  noticed  it  myself,"  said  Riever 
grinning.  "But  try  the  Courier." 

This  was  more  than  she  had  dared  hope  for.  She 
took  the  paper  from  him  in  a  hand  that  she  forced 
to  be  steady.  For  awhile  she  turned  the  pages  in  the 
haphazard  way  that  one  searches  through  a  strange 
newspaper.  Riever  meanwhile  was  sitting  beside  her 
regarding  his  cigar  with  half  closed  eyes,  and  making 
a  little  humming  sound  between  his  teeth.  Clearly  he 
was  intent  upon  thoughts  that  were  miles  away  from 
her. 

Pen  ventured  to  let  her  gaze  rest  on  the  third  page. 
The  make-up  of  that  page,  news  and  advertisements, 
was  such  that  she  had  little  difficulty  in  picking  out 
what  she  was  looking  for.  There  was  but  the  one 
short  item  of  news  near  the  bottom  of  the  page  in 
the  middle  column.  This  is  what  Pen  read: 

EAST-SIDE   GANGSTER   MISSING 

"A  girl  who  gave  her  name  as  Blanche  Paglar  of 
Elizabeth  St.,  became  hysterical  at  police  head- 
quarters this  morning  upon  being  informed  by  the  po- 
lice that  there  was  no  clue  to  the  disappearance  of 


On  Board  the  Alexandra         117 

Henry,  alias  Spike  Talley,  24,  same  address.  The  girl 
had  previously  reported  that  Talley  had  been  missing 
since  the  night  of  May  27th.  She  received  scant  sym- 
pathy from  the  police  who  told  her  that  if  the  young 
man  had  met  with  foul  play  it  was  probably  in  the 
pursuit  of  his  own  nefarious  occupations.  Spike  Talley 
was  a  leading  member  of  the  notorious  Chick  Murphy 
gang,  and  is  suspected  of  complicity  in  half  a  dozen 
crimes  of  violence." 

Pen  turned  a  little  giddy.  Her  heart  pounded  so 
that  she  thought  Riever  must  hear  it.  Dared  she 
credit  what  this  story  implied?  Had  she  come  upon 
the  key  to  the  whole  mystery?  Had  she?  Had  she? 
She  leaned  back  in  the  divan  and  held  the  paper  up  in 
front  of  her  so  that  he  could  not  see  her  face. 

When  her  breast  quieted  down  she  sternly  reminded 
herself  that  this  was  but  slim  evidence  on  which  to 
build  a  case.  She  might  be  mistaken  altogether.  She 
might  be  merely  reading  into  the  item  what  she  de- 
sired to  find  there.  She  determined  to  put  it  to  the 
test.  But  she  had  to  wait  awhile  before  she  dared 
trust  her  voice. 

It  was  Riever  who  said  at  last  coaxingly:  "Put 
down  the  paper." 

Pen  did  so.  Her  face  was  perfectly  composed  now. 
Her  voice  even  as  she  said:  "Here's  a  curious  little 
story." 

"What's  that?"  said  Riever. 

"A  girl  goes  to  the  police  for  help  in  finding  her 
lover.  They  laugh  at  her  because  he  was  a  gangster." 

For  an  instant  Riever  looked  at  her  like  an  animal 


n8  Ramshackle  House 

at  bay,  his  teeth  showing,  his  eyes  senseless  with  terror. 
It  was  gone  in  a  snap  of  the  fingers,  but  it  was  enough. 

"I  guess  that's  common  enough,"  he  said  with  a 
laugh. 

"What  a  situation  for  a  story,"  said  Pen. 

"Oh  yes,  if  you  like  that  sort  of  story,"  he  said, 
flicking  the  ash  off  his  cigar. 

Pen  said  to  herself  with  a  swelling  breast:  "I  have 
made  a  beginning  I"  No  need  for  her  to  secure  the 
paper.  Those  names  and  that  address  were  etched  on 
her  brain. 

Riever's  start  of  terror  had  been  due  to  a  reflex  ac- 
tion of  which  he  was  scarcely  conscious.  He  did  not 
suspect  that  he  had  betrayed  himself.  He  must  have 
argued  that  it  was  impossible  that  Pen  should  connect 
him  with  that  item  in  the  paper.  Her  speaking  of  it 
could  only  have  been  a  coincidence.  So  his  satisfaction 
was  undisturbed.  They  talked  on  about  all  sorts  of 
things.  But  Pen  was  wild  to  get  into  action  now. 

Her  opportunity  came  when  one  of  Riever's  men 
came  to  ask  if  he  had  any  orders  for  the  boat.  It  was 
returning  to  the  Island  to  get  the  regular  mail  which 
arrived  about  noon. 

Pen  said  to  Riever:  "This  would  be  a  good  chance 
for  me  to  get  my  shopping  done.  If  I  might  .  .  ." 

"Certainly,"  said  Riever.  "If  you  must.  May  I 
come  too?" 

This  was  awkward.  It  could  not  be  evaded  though. 
"It's  your  boat,"  said  Pen,  smiling. 

"Yours  for  this  trip." 

"Charmed  to  have  you,"  said  Pen.     ".  .  .  But  you 


On  Board  the  Alexandra         119 

can't  look  over  my  shoulder  when  I'm  making  my  poor 
little  purchases." 

"I'll  wait  in  the  boat  for  you." 

The  slim  mahogany  tender  which  lay  alongside  had 
cost  as  much  as  many  a  well-to-do  man's  cruiser.  Noth- 
ing like  her  had  ever  cleaved  the  waters  of  the  Poco- 
mico.  She  had  the  speed  of  a  railway  train.  Pen  was 
handed  in  to  a  little  sheltered  nook  in  the  stern.  Riever 
sank  down  beside  her  and  they  were  off  with  a  leap, 
throwing  a  wall  of  water  back  from  either  side  of 
the  bow. 

But  Pen  was  oblivious  to  their  passage.  Her  glance 
was  far  withdrawn. 

"What  are  you  thinking  about?"  asked  Riever. 

"My  shopping,"  she  answered  instantly.  "It's  quite 
a  problem.  There's  so  little  to  choose  from  in  the 
Island  stores." 

"Wouldn't  you  like  to  go  up  to  Baltimore  for  a 
day?"  he  asked. 

This  was  what  Pen  had  been  angling  for.  "I  might 
like  it,"  she  said,  "but  .  .  ."  she  finished  with  a 
shrug. 

"Well,  there  are  the  cars  running  up  and  down 
empty  every  day.  Why  not  go  up  Monday  morning?" 

"Monday  is  wash-day,"  said  Pen. 

"Tuesday,  then." 

Pen  considered.  "All  right,"  she  said.  "I  would 
like  to  go  on  Tuesday." 

"That's  settled  then." 

Pen  saw  from  his  look  that  he  meant  to  come  with 
her.  That  was  to  be  expected.  She  must  adjust  her 
plans  accordingly. 


I2O  Ramshackle  House 

In  three  minutes  they  were  at  the  wharf  in  front 
of  the  store.  It  was  like  magic.  The  Pee  Bee  took 
a  good  twenty  minutes  to  do  it.  Pen  stepped  out,  a 
sailor  was  sent  up  to  the  Post-office,  and  Riever  re- 
mained in  the  boat,  a  target  for  curious  stares.  He 
hated  to  be  stared  at,  and  he  presently  gave  the  word 
for  the  tender  to  wait  out  in  the  stream. 

The  store  was  a  rambling  structure  added  to  from 
time  to  time  as  business  increased.  The  clerks  were 
engaged  in  a  continual  marathon  from  one  distant 
shelf  to  another.  The  three  young  men  contended 
for  the  privilege  of  waiting  on  Pen,  who  was  a  prime 
favorite  even  with  the  touchy  Island  people  who  by 
turns  resented  and  laughed  at  her  father.  Pen  was 
entirely  unaffected  and  friendly,  quite  unconscious  of 
her  own  reserve.  In  short  she  kept  alive  a  fine  old 
tradition  of  gentility.  She  was  "Pen"  to  the  three 
youths  and  they  were  "George"  and  "Stanley"  and 
"Roy"  to  her,  yet  a  gulf  separated  them. 

In  order  to  keep  up  her  role  of  shopper  Pen  was 
obliged  to  purchase  a  chip  basket  which  she  did  not 
want,  and  a  number  of  articles  which  she  could  use 
of  course,  but  which  she  had  not  intended  to  get  that 
morning.  Her  purpose  in  coming  to  the  Island  was 
to  send  off  a  letter.  She  could  not  write  it  in  the  post- 
office  because  the  sailor  from  the  Alexandra  was  wait- 
ing there,  so  she  bought  paper  and  envelope  in  the 
store  and  wrote  it  on  the  counter. 

She  had  been  revolving  the  opening  sentences  on  her 
way  over.  So  concentrated  was  she  upon  her  task  that 
the  bustle,  the  running  to  and  fro  in  the  store  disturbed 
her  not  a  whit.  Through  the  open  door  she  could  see 


On  Board  the  Alexandra         121 

the  mahogany  tender  floating  out  in  the  creek  with 
Riever  sitting  in  his  place  smoking  one  of  the  endless 
succession  of  cigars,  and  she  knew  she  was  safe  from 
interruption  in  that  direction. 

"Dear  Blanche  Paglar: 

"I  read  in  the  New  York  Courier  this  morning  of 
your  search  for  Spike  Talley.  Perhaps  I  can  give  you 
a  clue.  I  cannot  hold  out  any  hope  to  you  that  he  is 
still  alive,  but  anyway  I  suppose  it  would  be  a  relief 
to  you  to  learn  the  truth.  But  I  don't  want  to  deceive 
you.  I  am  sure  of  nothing  yet.  I  have  only  a  sus- 
picion. I  thought  if  we  could  put  what  little  I  know 
with  what  you  know  we  might  clear  up  the  whole 
thing." 

Having  written  this  much  Pen  paused  and  reread 
it  with  a  frown.  It  sounded  too  cut  and  dried.  She 
wished  to  win  this  unknown  girl's  heart.  It  was  noth- 
ing to  Pen  at  that  moment  that  Blanche  had  loved  a 
gangster  and  was  perhaps  herself  a  criminal.  All  Pen 
considered  was  that  Blanche  had  lost  her  lover,  and 
that  Pen's  own  lover  was  in  terrible  danger.  That 
made  them  sisters.  She  continued,  from  the  heart: 

"I  am  a  girl  like  yourself.  I  understand  much  that 
was  not  written  in  the  paper.  Like  yourself  I  love 
somebody  who  is  threatened  by  a  worse  fate  than  that 
which  I  suppose  may  have  overtaken  your  friend.  And 
at  the  hands  of  the  same  man.  We  ought  to  be  friends. 
We  ought  to  help  one  another." 

Pen's  eyelids  prickled  as  she  wrote  this.  She  forced 
down  the  emotion,  and  continued  more  soberly: 

"I  dare  not  write  all  I  suspect  to  one  who  is  still  a 
stranger  to  me.  Will  you  meet  me  in  Baltimore  on 


122  Ramshackle  House 

Tuesday  at  noon?  I  shall  be  waiting  for  you  in  front 
of  the  notion  counter  in  Douglas'  department  store. 
Anybody  will  direct  you  to  it.  I  don't  know  what  you 
look  like  of  course,  but  you  may  recognize  me  by  a 
blue  silk  turban  stitched  with  red.  My  hair  and  eyes 
are  dark.  You  may  take  a  good  look  at  me  before  you 
make  yourself  known,  and  decide  if  I  look  like  a  per- 
son who  can  be  trusted.  Don't  speak  to  me  if  I  am 
not  alone.  Even  if  I  am  alone  I  may  be  watched,  and 
it  would  be  better  for  you  to  greet  me  like  an  old 
friend.  I  will  enclose  a  post-office  order  for  fifteen 
dollars  to  pay  your  fare  to  Baltimore  and  back." 

Pen  was  afraid  to  put  her  name  to  this.  She  hated 
anonymity,  and  realized  that  it  would  raise  a  justifiable 
suspicion  in  the  other  girl's  breast,  but  within  the  past 
few  days  the  newspapers  had  made  the  name  of  Pen- 
dleton  Broome  almost  as  famous  as  that  of  Donald 
Counsell.  How  could  she  take  the  risk?  Suppose 
her  letter  ended  in  the  newspapers?  She  turned  hot 
and  cold  at  the  thought.  Even  the  post-mark  Abso- 
lom's  Island  would  give  too  much  away.  But  she  had 
to  take  that  chance.  She  couldn't  put  down  a  false 
name  either.  She  finally  signed  her  letter:  "Your 
Would-be  Friend." 

When  she  finally  held  her  letter  enclosed,  and  ad- 
dressed in  her  hand,  her  heart  failed  her  for  a  mo- 
ment. "It  will  only  arouse  her  suspicions,"  she 
thought.  "She'll  never  come !"  Pen  steeled  her  reso- 
lution. "In  that  case  I'll  go  to  her!" 

Pen  got  a  blank  check  from  one  of  the  clerks,  filled 
it  out  and  cashed  it.  There  went  her  chance  of  the 
new  hat  she  needed  so  badly.  Leaving  her  purchases 
in  the  store  for  the  moment  she  went  on  up  the  road 


On  Board  the  Alexandra         123 

to  the  post-office.  The  store  looked  out  over  the 
waters  of  Back  Creek.  You  went  up  a  little  rise  and 
found  yourself  looking  out  over  the  river  from  the 
other  side  of  the  Island.  The  post-office  stood  on  the 
corner  where  the  road  turned  up-stream.  It  was  only 
a  couple  of  hundred  yards  from  the  store  but  outside 
the  range  of  Riever's  vision  from  the  tender. 

The  mail  bus  had  just  arrived  and  a  certain  propor- 
tion of  the  Islanders  were  hanging  about  outside  the 
little  building,  waiting  for  the  distribution.  During 
this  interval  the  door  was  always  locked  but  Pen  en- 
joyed privileges  there.  She  knocked,  and  the  post- 
master, Sammy  Cupples,  seeing  who  it  was,  made  haste 
to  open. 

She  made  out  her  application  for  the  money-order 
at  the  little  desk  in  the  corner,  and  Sammy  paused 
long  enough  in  the  work  of  distribution  to  issue  it,  so 
that  it  might  get  in  that  day's  mail.  The  bus  went 
back  immediately.  It  would  reach  Baltimore  some 
time  before  night,  and  the  letter  would  be  delivered 
in  New  York  the  first  thing  Monday  morning.  When 
it  dropped  into  the  mail-bag  a  tight  hand  was  laid  on 
Pen's  heart  for  a  moment  and  she  would  have  given 
anything  to  have  it  back.  But  the  die  was  cast. 

Pen  returned  to  the  store.  One  of  the  youths  car- 
ried her  basket  out  on  the  wharf.  The  tender  swept 
around  in  a  graceful  circle  and  came  alongside.  Riever 
stood  up  to  hand  Pen  in.  The  Island  boy's  eyes  gog- 
gled a  little  at  the  famous  man.  Riever  looked  his 
worst  when  he  showed  his  yellow  teeth  in  a  loverly 
smile.  Pen  shuddered  at  him  inwardly,  thinking: 


124  Ramshackle  House 

"You  would  not  be  smiling  if  you  knew  what  I  had 
just  done!" 

As  soon  as  the  man  came  with  the  mail  they  sped 
back  to  Broome's  Point. 


CHAPTER  VI 

MOONLIGHT 

IT  was  night  and  Pen  with  her  indomitable  carriage 
was  trudging  along  the  road  that  led  straight  back 
between  the  fields.  Under  her  arm  was  the  inevitable 
grass  bag.  Chin  up  and  back  very  straight  there  was 
always  a  sort  of  challenge  in  Pen's  gait.  As  a  child 
she  had  been  just  the  same,  one  of  those  adorable  little 
fighters  who  conceal  a  heart  as  tender  as  love  itself. 
There  was  a  photograph  of  her  at  the  age  of  three 
with  a  look  wistful,  proud,  and  astonished  at  mean- 
ness. She  still  had  that  look. 

A  fantastic  tangle  of  wild  grape,  trumpet  vine,  elder 
bush  and  sassafras  completely  hid  the  rail  fences  and 
hemmed  her  in  on  either  hand,  and  an  occasional 
pointed  cedar  or  seedling  cherry  rose  against  the  night 
sky.  The  middle  of  the  road  and  the  screen  of  leafage 
on  one  side  were  drenched  with  moonlight.  The  moon 
dangled  in  the  sky  like  a  hanging  lamp :  one  could  see 
into  the  depths  beyond  her. 

Pen  walked  along  with  her  face  up  to  the  moon  in 
an  attitude  of  surrender.  Her  face  was  haggard  with 
emotion.  All  day  she  was  obliged  to  wear  a  mask, 
to  weigh  every  word  she  uttered.  What  a  relief  it 
was  at  last  to  let  go,  to  let  the  moon  have  its  way 
with  her,  to  bathe  in  her  silver  stream.  Relief  in  a 
sense  but  hardly  pleasure,  for  when  she  let  go  she  was 

125 


126  Ramshackle  House 

so  defenseless,  so  quivering  that  the  stream  of  beauty 
hurt  her.  It  enervated  her  so,  she  was  terrified  lest  she 
might  not  be  able  to  gird  herself  up  again. 

For  she  knew  her  respite  was  only  momentary.  She 
longed  for  and  dreaded  what  awaited  her  at  the  end 
of  her  walk.  She  couldn't  give  herself  up  to  Don  as 
she  could  to  the  moon.  She  had  to  put  on  another 
mask  for  him.  A  mask  of  cheer.  He  was  her  charge 
that  she  had  to  watch  over  and  care  for  and  beguile 
into  contentment.  The  fact  that  he  hotly  resented 
being  a  charge  on  her  did  not  make  her  task  any  easier. 
They  had  been  getting  on  each  other's  nerves  a  good 
deal. 

Ever  and  anon  as  she  walked,  she  glanced  over  her 
shoulder  uneasily  aware  that  a  man  could  follow  her 
quite  close  under  the  dark  side  of  the  green  tangle, 
without  her  being  aware. 

At  the  corner  of  the  last  field  on  the  left  she  vault- 
ed over  the  low  bars.  Inside  a  figure  rose  into  the 
moonlight  and  a  voice  whispered  her  name : 

"Pen!" 

She  was  horribly  startled.  "Drop  down  again!" 
she  whispered  sharply.  "Don't  come  after  me  until 
I  am  half  way  across  the  field." 

He  obeyed  sullenly.  Pen  walked  on  across  the  field 
with  a  sore  heart.  She  had  made  him  angry  now.  All 
day  she  lived  for  the  moment  of  meeting  and  now  it 
was  spoiled. 

She  headed  diagonally  across  the  field  to  that  point 
in  the  woods  which  was  nearest  his  camp.  She  could 
walk  but  slowly  because  the  ground  was  so  rough,  old 
corn  land  that  had  been  allowed  to  go  to  grass  with 


Moonlight  127 

the  hills  unharrowed.  She  would  not  look  back  until 
she  was  nearly  across.  A  man's  figure  was  rising  over 
the  swell  of  the  field  behind  her.  Anxiety  attacked 
her.  Suppose  it  was  not  Don  but  somebody  who  had 
followed  her  down  the  road.  What  would  Don  do? 
She  dreaded  to  hear  the  sounds  of  a  struggle.  Don 
could  take  care  of  himself  of  course,  but  it  would  be 
the  end  of  their  secret.  So  well  had  that  secret  been 
kept  that  not  one  of  all  the  searchers  at  Broome's 
Point  now  suspected  that  Don  was  still  on  the  estate. 

Pen  waited  alongside  the  fence  that  bounded  the 
far  side  of  the  field.  It  was  Don,  so  her  anxiety  was 
relieved  on  that  score.  But  he  did  not  come  to  her. 
A  few  yards  away  he  leaned  back  with  his  elbows  on 
the  top  rail  of  the  fence  and  gazed  out  across  the 
moonlit  field,  making  a  perfect  silhouette  of  masculine 
soreness. 

"I  brought  you  some  supper,"  ventured  Pen. 

"Thanks,"  he  said  ungraciously. 

"Won't  you  eat?" 

"Not  hungry,  thanks." 

"What's  the  matter?"  she  asked  with  a  touch  of  de- 
fiance. She  could  not  be  meek,  even  with  him. 

"You  spoke  to  me  like  a  dog!"  he  burst  out.  "Down 
Fido!" 

"I'm  sorry,"  she  murmured.  "But  you  startled  me 
so.  You  see  I  was  thinking  maybe  someone  was  fol- 
lowing me  in  the  road." 

"I  just  went  a  little  way  to  meet  you,"  he  grumbled. 
"Nice  welcome  I  got  I" 

Having  said  she  was  sorry,  Pen  could  not  humble 
herself  further.  She  remained  silent. 


128  Ramshackle  House 

"I  suppose  you're  thinking  I'm  a  thankless  beast," 
he  went  on  presently. 

"No,"  said  Pen. 

"Well  I  am!"  he  said.  "I  appreciate  what  you  do 
for  me.  Good  God,  that's  just  the  trouble.  You  heap 
favors  on  me!  You've  got  me  on  the  rack!" 

They  had  been  over  this  so  often! 

"Well,  I'm  sick  of  it,  too,"  Pen  burst  out  as  bit- 
terly as  he.  "You're  always  trying  to  make  out  that 
I  do  things  for  you  just  to  make  you  feel  inferior !  I 
hate  to  be  benevolent.  I  never  am.  But  what  else 
could  I  do  under  the  circumstances?  Or  you?  Why 
can't  you  take  it  for  granted?" 

"You  mean  you'd  do  as  much  for  anybody?" 

"Certainly." 

This  of  course  in  his  perfect  inconsistency,  hurt  him 
worse  than  what  had  gone  before.  He  dug  his  chin 
into  his  breast  and  relapsed  into  silence. 

Pen  yearned  over  him.  She  loved  him  so  for  his 
male  roughness,  his  wrongheadedness,  his  school-boy 
pride.  He  was  so  absolutely  different  from  herself, 
both  weaker  and  stronger.  It  was  circumstances  which 
had  given  her  the  advantage  over  him;  he  was  in  a 
false  position.  She  exulted  in  it  a  little  however  she 
might  protest  to  the  contrary.  It  is  sweet  to  have  the 
ascendancy,  even  in  love.  And  she  could  dimly  foresee 
other  circumstances  in  which  she  would  be  most  terribly 
at  his  mercy. 

She  made  overtures.    "I'm  hungry,"  she  said. 

But  the  storm  was  still  brewing  in  his  breast.  "A 
couple  more  days  of  this  and  I'll  go  clean  off  my  head!" 
he  said  savagely. 


Moonlight  129 

"How  about  me?"  said  Pen. 

"You  don't  have  to  squat  under  the  bushes  all  day." 

"I  have  other  troubles." 

"I  have  things  to  bear  that  you  don't  know  any- 
thing about.  I  have  never  spoken  of  it." 

Instantly  Pen,  who  had  been  feeling  so  pleasantly 
sure  of  herself,  turned  hot  with  jealousy.  There  was 
some  other  woman  out  in  the  world.  Of  course  there 
would  be !  He  was  tormented  because  he  couldn't 
communicate  with  her.  Because  he  couldn't  assure 
her  of  his  innocence.  How  could  she  find  out  about 
her  for  sure? 

"If  you'd  tell  me  what  it  is,"  she  said,  schooling 
her  voice,  "perhaps  I  could  help." 

"Not  in  this  matter,"  he  said  with  a  bitter  little 
laugh. 

Then  she  was  miserably  sure.  Nevertheless  she 
persisted,  as  the  nightingale  is  supposed  to  press  her 
breast  against  a  thorn.  "I've  often  wondered  why  you 
don't  allow  me  to  write  to  some  of  your  best  friends. 
Those  you  can  trust  I  mean.  The  letters  could  be 
worded  in  such  a  way  that  they'd  mean  nothing  if  they 
fell  into  the  wrong  hands." 

"I've  no  one  to  write  to,"  he  said. 

Pen  thought :  "Of  course  he  wouldn't  trust  another 
woman  to  write  to  her,"  and  was  exquisitely  unhappy. 

"Any  news?"  Don  asked  gloomily. 

"No,"  said  Pen.  She  had  previously  determined 
not  to  raise  his  hopes  by  telling  him  about  Blanche 
Paglar  until  something  had  come  of  it. 

There  was  a  long  silence  between  them,  and  Pen 
became  wretcheder  and  wretcheder.  When  she  could 


130  Ramshackle  House 

stand  it  no  longer  she  put  the  bag  down  beside  the 
fence  and  said  in  an  offhand  tone : 

"Well  ...  I  must  be  getting  back  .  »  ,  I'll  come 
again  to-morrow  night." 

She  started  to  walk  away  with  her  sedate  air,  but 
a  little  quicker  perhaps  than  would  suggest  perfect 
calmness. 

Before  she  had  taken  three  steps  he  came  after 
her.  Pen  broke  into  a  run.  He  overtook  her.  Ah! 
if  he  had  only  taken  her  in  his  arms  I  But  he  only 
circled  about  her,  spreading  out  his  arms  to  bar  her 
way. 

"Pen,  Pen,  don't  leave  me!"  he  said  imploringly. 
"That  would  be  the  last  straw  I  ...  Don't  leave  me 
to  brood  over  my  own  hatefulness." 

The  pain  in  his  voice  arrested  her.  She  forgot  her 
own  pain.  As  in  a  flash  she  had  a  clairvoyant  glimpse 
of  what  he  must  be  going  through  day  after  day,  the 
resolute  young  man  compelled  to  skulk  in  the  woods, 
while  his  name  was  bandied  about  with  the  stigma  of 
murder  upon  it. 

"I'm  a  fool!"  she  said  with  a  shaky  little  laugh. 
"To  get  sore  ...  I  won't  go." 

"Oh,  Pen,  you're  so  good  to  me !"  he  groaned.  "I'm 
a  stubborn  brute,  Pen,  I  can't  thank  you  properly. 
But  Pen,  I  feel  as  if  you  were  heaping  a  load  on  me 
that  I'd  never  be  able  to  struggle  from  under!  But 
I  ought  not  to  feel  that  way,  Pen." 

Ever  since  he  had  got  hold  of  that  little  name  he 
could  scarcely  address  five  words  to  her  without  using 
it,  and  every  time  he  spoke  it  he  caressed  it.  Pen  was 
reassured. 


Moonlight  131 

"Don't  worry  about  how  you  ought  to  feel,"  she 
murmured.  "Much  better  for  us  to  quarrel  than  to 
make  pretenses  to  each  other.  Besides  a  lot  of  that 
talk  about  doing  things  for  people  and  earning  their 
gratitude  is  false.  A  person  has  really  no  right  to  put 
another  person  under  a  debt  of  gratitude." 

"The  truth  is,  I'm  afraid  of  you,"  he  grumbled. 

It  was  delicious  to  her  to  have  him  softened  and 
faltering  like  this.  "I'm  afraid  of  you,  too,"  she  con- 
fessed. "How  silly  we  both  are!" 

For  a  moment  or  two  they  were  wildly  and  unrea- 
sonably happy,  standing  there  in  the  bland  moonlight 
close  together  but  not  touching.  His  face  was  in  the 
shadow  but  Pen  could  feel  his  eyes  stabbing  her  out 
of  the  dark.  Her  own  went  down.  They  were  like 
reeds  shaken  in  the  same  gust.  In  that  moment  Pen 
knew  that  whatever  bonds  might  be  upon  him  out  in 
the  world,  he  was  hers.  Still  he  did  not  speak;  he  did 
not  draw  her  to  him.  In  the  end  she  had  to  wrench 
herself  away  from  the  magnetic  attraction  of  his  body, 
or  else  she  must  have  flung  herself  into  his  arms. 

"Let's  walk,"  she  said  hurriedly.  "We're  safe 
enough  in  this  out-of-the-way  corner.  You  must  need 
exercise.  We'll  circle  round  the  field.  Over  in  the 
corner  there's  a  path  leading  down  to  an  arm  of  Back 
creek  where  Dad  keeps  his  boat  in  the  winter." 

Don  came  down  to  earth  with  a  sigh.  He  had  a 
curious  way,  when  his  thoughts  annoyed  him,  of  shak- 
ing his  head  like  a  dog,  to  clear  it.  Without  saying 
anything  he  tied  the  jute  bag  to  an  overhanging  branch 
out  of  reach  of  four-footed  prowlers,  and  came  along 
with  Pen. 


132  Ramshackle  House 

They  kept  to  the  fence  line,  silent  for  the  most 
part.  Their  breasts  were  oppressed  by  moonlight, 
that  high,  pure  medi..1  ;  which  nevertheless  stirs  us  so 
poignantly.  The  moon  herself  is  all  very  well  in  her 
way,  a  lovely  lamp  in  the  dark,  but  one  can  stare  at 
the  moon  all  night  without  being  transported.  One 
must  turn  one's  back  on  the  moon  to  experience  her 
magic.  It  is  the  strange  light  she  casts  on  the  face  of 
our  mother  Earth,  and  Earth's  smile  under  moonlight, 
soft,  subtle  and  infinitely  suggestive,  that  thrill  us, 
that  disquiet  us,  that  unlock  our  spirits.  On  the 
one  hand  as  they  walked  the  field  lay  spread  with  a 
bloomy,  gossamer  coverlet  of  moonlight;  on  the  other 
hand  the  swelling  tree  masses  rose  in  rich  velvety 
blackness  under  a  lazulite  sky. 

Their  two  shadows  soberly  preceded  them,  always 
with  a  narrow  space  of  moonlight  between.  Pen  re- 
sented that  little  gap.  She  had  forgotten  about  the 
supposed  other  woman,  or  if  she  remembered  she  no 
longer  cared.  She  lived  in  the  moment  only;  there 
was  no  more  past,  no  future.  She  was  in  the  grip  of 
sensations  that  scarcely  permitted  her  to  breathe.  Yet 
she  had  to  conceal  from  him  those  sighs  with 
which  she  sought  to  relieve  her  breast.  Sometimes 
she  fell  behind  a  step  just  for  the  satisfaction  of  look- 
ing at  him  without  his  knowing,  at  the  way  his  hair 
curled  at  the  nape  of  his  neck,  at  his  flat,  straight  back, 
at  the  curious  grace  of  his  level  walk.  He  was  wear- 
ing an  old  pair  of  trousers  and  a  shirt  of  khaki  that 
she  had  brought  him  as  being  less  conspicuous  in  the 
woods  than  his  own  white  clothes.  The  thin  garments 
betrayed  his  beauty  to  her. 


Moonlight  133 

The  moon  was  high  in  the  sky  and  their  shadows 
were  short  at  their  feet.  Pen  beheld  a  curious  thing. 
The  dewy  grass  refracting  the  strong  moonlight  made 
a  silvery  nimbus  around  the  heads  of  the  two  of  them. 

"Look!"  she  said  with  her  shaky  little  laugh. 
"We've  been  canonized." 

"Not  me,"  he  said.  "They  just  let  me  walk  under 
your  halo." 

Having  circled  round  two  sides  of  the  field,  they 
climbed  over  another  pole  gate  and  were  swallowed 
up  in  the  woods.  Instantly  the  silence  wrapped  them 
as  in  a  cloak,  and  the  heavy  air  became  charged  with 
a  curious  significance.  High  over  head  they  glimpsed 
the  moon  pacing  with  them  over  the  tree-tops.  She 
splashed  the  trunks  fantastically,  and  occasionally  lay 
down  a  bar  of  silver  on  the  path,  but  for  the  most  part 
the  underworld  was  black,  black,  black;  a  crouching 
blackness  that  held  its  breath  as  if  in  preparation  for 
a  spring.  The  path  was  well-beaten  but  narrow.  They 
had  to  walk  in  single  file,  Pen  ahead. 

"I'm  glad  you're  here,"  murmured  Pen. 

"It's  a  fearsome  sort  of  place,"  he  said.  "It  was 
not  like  this  the  other  night  we  walked  through  the 
woods." 

"These  woods  have  not  been  cut  out,"  said  Pen, 
"The  old  presences  have  never  been  disturbed." 

Finally  the  path  with  a  sharp  turn  brought  them 
abruptly  out  under  the  open  sky  again.  It  was  as  if 
something  had  been  lifted  off  their  heads.  They  had 
come  to  a  low  bank  at  the  head  of  a  straight,  narrow 
arm  of  water  thrust  into  the  heart  of  the  pines.  A 
great  bird  arose  from  below  them  and  passed  away 


134  Ramshackle  House 

like  a  shadow  with  a  soft  swishing  of  wings.  The 
path  ended  in  a  shaky  little  wharf  with  a  single  plank 
laid  upon  it.  They  stepped  gingerly  out  upon  it  hand 
in  hand,  and  stood  looking  down  the  reach.  The  South 
wind  passed  high  above  their  heads  and  the  surface  of 
the  water  was  perfectly  unruffled. 

At  the  moment  the  moon  was  looking  down  the 
straight  arm  so  squarely  one  might  have  said  she  had 
cleft  the  opening  herself  with  her  silver  blade  of  light. 
Down  at  the  end  of  the  narrow  arm  they  had  the 
sense  of  a  wider  body  of  water  running  at  right  angles, 
a  pearly,  fairy-like  strait.  On  the  point  which 
separated  the  two  bodies  of  water  stood  a  little  white 
house  gleaming  wanly  in  the  moonlight.  In  a  window 
of  the  house,  a  curious  note  in  that  dreamy  world  of 
opal  and  pearl,  shone  an  insistent  yellow  light. 

"Surely  real  people  can't  live  there,"  murmured 
Don. 

"The  worst  kind,  unfortunately,"  said  Pen.  "That's 
where  the  oystermen  go  to  get  drunk." 

They  retraced  their  steps  up  the  bank.  When  they 
trod  firm  earth  again,  Pen  repossessed  herself  of  her 
hand. 

"Where  now?"  asked  Don. 

"There's  no  place  to  go  but  back." 

"Not  yet,"  he  pleaded.  "Let's  stay  here  awhile. 
There's  plenty  of  time.  There  are  no  mosquitoes  to- 
night." 

An  old  skiff  had  been  dragged  up  on  top  of  the  bank 
and  turned  over. 

"Sit  here,"  he  urged. 

Blaming  herself  for  her  weakness,  she  sat  upon  it 


Moonlight  135 

with  her  hands  in  her  lap.  The  moonlight  was  strong 
upon  her.  There  was  a  wall  of  undergrowth  at  her 
back.  Her  face  and  hands  stood  out  against  it  sharply, 
Don  dropped  to  the  ground  at  her  feet, 

"It's  damp  there,"  she  objected. 

"Can't  see  you  when  I  sit  beside  you,"  he  said.  "I 
can  from  here.  With  only  your  face  and  hands  show- 
ing out  of  your  black  dress  you  look  like  a  spirit." 

"A  lost  spirit!"  she  said  with  her  little  laugh. 

"Oh  Pen!"  he  said  in  distress.  "Why  should  you 
be  unhappy?" 

"I  hate  the  moon!"  she  said.  "It  makes  a  fool  of 
me!" 

His  touch  of  sympathy  unnerved  her.  That  and 
the  glamorous  destructive  light  that  would  not  let  her 
breast  be.  The  last  of  her  defenses  collapsed.  In 
spite  of  herself  the  tears  welled  up  in  her  eyes  and 
brimmed  over.  She  lowered  her  head  to  hide  them, 
but  he  caught  the  sparkle  of  the  drops  as  they  fell.  It 
electrified  him.  He  scrambled  to  his  knees. 

"Pen !    Pen  I"  he  whispered  brokenly. 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  He  dragged 
them  down,  and  crushed  them  under  his  own  hands  on 
her  knees. 

"Pen !"  he  gasped.  "It  breaks  my  heart  to  see  you ! 
What  is  the  matter?" 

She  strained  away  from  him.  "Nothing!"  she  said 
crossly.  "I'm  not  the  sort  that  cries  I" 

"But  you're  crying  now.     I  see  your  tears!" 

"It's  nothing.    I'm  just  nervous.    Don't  notice  me." 

"Oh  Pen,  I  love  you  so !"  he  groaned.  "It  kills  me 
to  see  your  tears!" 


136  Ramshackle  House 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  kind  of  horror. 

He  dropped  his  head  in  her  lap.  "There  it's  out  I" 
he  groaned.  "All  evening  I've  been  fighting  against 
it.  Every  night  I've  been  with  you.  I  swore  I  wouldn't 
tell  you.  But  here  I  am  .  .  .  just  like  a  baby.  God 
knows  I'll  regret  it  to-morrow!" 

"But  why?"  she  gasped. 

"Because  it  drives  me  wild  to  think  of  bringing  un- 
happiness  into  your  life.  I'd  sooner  jump  off  the 
wharf  yonder.  It's  unmanly  to  tell  you  now!" 

"Blessed  uiunanliness!"  whispered  Pen,  brooding 
over  him. 

Presently  she  jerked  her  head  up  as  if  she  needed 
more  air,  more  light.  The  moon  shone  in  her  wet  face. 
It  was  transfigured. 

He  was  still  humbled  over  her  knees.  "This  isn't 
the  way  I  wanted  to  come  to  the  woman  I  love,"  he 
said  bitterly.  "I've  nothing  to  offer  you  .  .  .  less 
than  nothing  .  .  ." 

"Do  you  want  to  buy  me  or  to  love  me,"  she  mur- 
mured with  soft  reproach. 

He  scarcely  heard  her.  "It  is  impossible  for  you 
to  respect  a  man  who  is  as  dependent  on  you  as  a 
baby!" 

Pen  put  her  cheek  in  his  hair.  "Foolish  one  I  What 
has  respect  to  do  with  it?" 

"You  can  only  be  sorry  for  me!" 

Her  hands  turned  over  and  found  his  face.  "Fool- 
ish! Foolish!  Foolish !"  she  murmured.  "You  must 
have  got  your  idea  of  loving  out  of  books  I  ...  How 
selfish  you  are!" 

He  raised  his  head,  struck  by  the  word. 


Moonlight  137 

Her  voice  deepened.  "Don't  you  understand  how 
sweet  it  has  been  for  me  to  work  for  you;  to  lie  for 
you;  to  steal  food  out  of  the  house?  Why  do  you  be- 
grudge it  to  me?  .  .  .  Oh,  sometimes  I  could  almost 
wish  you  had  committed  a  murder  so  I  could  go  with 
you  and  be  disgraced  with  you!" 

"Pen!  .  .  .  Pen!"  he  cried  amazed  and  full  of  de- 
light. Then  added  quaintly  in  a  voice  of  reproof: 
"You're  talking  wildly!" 

Pen  laughed  deep  in  her  throat.  She  slipped  off 
the  boat  to  the  ground  beside  him,  where  she  could 
wreathe  her  arms  about  him,  and  hide  her  face  on 
his  shoulder. 

"You're  only  a  man,"  she  murmured  laughing  and 
passionate.  "What  do  you  know  about  love?  .  .  . 
Ah,  but  only  let  me  love  you  and  I  will  be  content!" 

"You'll  see  whether  I  can  love  or  not,"  he  said, 
piqued. 

"Keep  telling  me,"  she  murmured.  "My  ears  are 
starving  for  it!" 

"I  can't  tell  you  to  order,"  he  grumbled,  manlike. 
"It  must  come  of  itself." 

But  she  knew  from  the  timbre  of  his  voice,  from  his 
arms,  from  the  adoring  droop  of  his  head,  and  was 
content. 

He  held  her  a  little  away  from  him  that  he  might 
see  her  better.  Pen  yielded  up  her  soul  to  him  through 
her  eyes. 

"Good  God!  how  beautiful  you  are!"  he  whispered 
sharply. 

Their  lips  came  together.  They  achieved  forgetful- 
ness. 


138  Ramshackle  House 

Even  lovers  must  come  back  to  earth.  Pen  drew 
away  from  him.  "The  dawn  will  surprise  us,"  she 
murmured. 

He  consulted  his  watch.     "Only  half-past  two." 

"We  must  go." 

"Oh,  no!  no!" 

"Well,  we  must  begin  to  go,"  she  amended.  "I 
can't  leave  you  quickly." 

She  sat  on  the  ground  as  Diana  must  have  sat,  her 
legs  folded  against  her,  her  waist  curving  to  preserve 
her  equilibrium,  both  round  arms  up  and  her  fingers 
busy  with  her  hair. 

"How  beautiful  you  are  so,"  he  murmured.  "Don't 
move !" 

She  laughed.  "Help  me  up,"  she  commanded,  ex- 
tending him  her  hands. 

As  he  pulled  her  to  her  feet  he  was  for  enfolding 
her  again,  but  she  put  her  hands  up  between  them. 
"Not  now  I  I  want  to  get  away  from  you  a  little." 

"Pen!"  he  cried  reproachfully. 

She  laughed.  "Dearest!  I  just  mean  you  have 
numbed  me  ...  I  must  get  away  from  you  in  order 
to  realize  you." 

"You  soon  have  enough  of  me,"  he  grumbled. 

"Somebody  must  be  the  first  to  stop." 

"But  you  do  love  me,  don't  you?" 

"Not  always  in  the  same  way." 

"You  do  1    You  do !     I  know  it  now  I" 

"Then  why  worry?  .  .  .  Come,  it's  a  long  way 
back.  We  can  talk  as  we  go." 

"But  wait  a  minute,  Pen.  No,  I  won't  touch  you  if 
you  don't  want  me  to  ...  I  want  to  tell  you  some- 


Moonlight  139 

thing.  Oh,  if  I  could  only  tell  you  right!  .  .  .  What 
this  wonderful  thing  means  to  me  I" 

"Shi    Dearest!    It  can't  be  told.    It  simply  can't!" 

"But  I  must  try." 

"You're  not  sorry  then  that  you  told  me?" 

"No,  by  God!  I  don't  deserve  this  .  .  .  but  I'm 
not  sorry.  That  was  just  childish  pride  ...  If  you 
really  are  the  better  man  of  the  two  I  might  as  well 
make  up  my  mind  to  it!" 

Pen  laughed.  "But  I'm  not!  .  .  .  Oh,  my  tongue 
is  quicker  than  yours.  I  can  tangle  you  all  up  in  words. 
But  you  have  a  simplicity!  I  sit  at  your  feet!" 

"Pen!" 

"Come  on,  I  shouldn't  have  told  you  that!  .  .  . 
Come  on,  I  feel  as  light  as  air,  now!"  She  whirled 
around  and  gave  his  elbows  a  little  squeeze.  "Isn't  it 
blessed  to  be  relieved  of  that  horrible  constraint  that 
lay  on  us."  She  was  off  ahead  again.  "I  can  say  what- 
ever I  like  to  you  now  without  thinking  ...  I  expect 
I'll  shock  you  sometimes.  I'm  no  lady!" 

"I  guess  I  can  stand  it,"  he  said  grinning. 

Pen  had  a  hundred  questions  to  ask  as  they  went. 
The  most  trifling  details  of  his  childhood  were  im- 
portant to  her. 

"Have  you  any  photographs  of  yourself  as  a  child?" 
she  asked  eagerly.  "How  I  should  love  them !" 

"All  ages,"  he  said  lightly.  Suddenly  his  voice  be- 
came embittered.  "I  suppose  they're  in  the  hands  of 
the  police." 

"We'll  get  them  back!"  said  Pen  confidently. 

He  stopped  in  the  path.  "Good  God,  Pen!  What 
is  before  us?  I  had  forgotten  it!" 


140  Ramshackle  House 

"You  are  going  to  clear  yourself." 

"But  if  I  shouldn't  be  able  to?" 

"Whatever  happens  to  you,  I  share  it,"  she  said 
quickly. 

"But  I've  got  to  take  care  of  you  I" 

Ignoring  this,  she  resumed  her  questions.  Gradually 
she  drew  him  back  into  a  lighter  mood. 

"Haven't  you  any  brothers  and  sisters  Don?" 

"No,  I  was  an  only  child." 

"I,  too.     It's  unnatural.    I  mean  to  have  four." 

He  pulled  her  to  him.  "Oh,  my  Pen!"  he  said  a 
little  hoarsely.  "My  heart  almost  stops  beating  at  the 
thought !" 

She  freed  herself.  "Bear!"  she  said.  "I  didn't  in- 
vite  you  to  assist  me  in  bringing  up  my  family!" 

"You've  got  to  have  some  assistance,"  he  said 
wickedly. 

She  changed  the  subject.  "I  suppose  you've  been 
in  love  dozens  of  times,"  she  said. 

"Not  like  this.     Flirtations." 

"Oh,  the  last  time  is  always  the  only  time,"  she 
said  mockingly. 

"Well,  how  about  yourself?"  he  parried. 

"Not  a  flirtation!"  said  Pen  ruefully.  "Not  the 
least  little  bit  of  a  one.  Only  dreams." 

"The  men  were  afraid  of  you,"  said  Don  sagely. 
"It  takes  courage  to  make  up  to  a  girl  like  you  " 

"Conceit!"  said  Pen  .  .  .  "Tell  me  about  your 
flirtations." 

"I  forget,"  he  said  warily. 

"Well,  the  first  one.     You  couldn't  forget  that." 

"No,  I  don't  mean  to  tell  you,"  he  said  coolly.    He 


Moonlight  141 

groped  for  his  words.  "You're  the  only  woman  who 
ever  mattered  a  damn  to  me.  If  you  don't  know  that 
now,  you  will  know  it  ...  And  it  isn't  that  I  want 
to  make  myself  out  any  better  than  I  am.  Pretty  poor 
average  sort  .  .  .  But  I  won't  tell  you.  I  have  a 
feeling  that  you're  the  sort  to  bedevil  me  into  telling 
you  things  with  a  laugh,  and  then  store  them  up  and 
brood  over  them  and  magnify  them." 

Pen  sent  him  a  curious  glance  through  her  lashes. 
"Good  gracious !  You're  cleverer  than  I  thought  1" 
she  said  in  a  tone  divided  between  mockery  and  pique. 

By  the  time  they  got  out  of  the  woods  the  moon 
had  traveled  a  good  bit  towards  the  West.  Now  it 
almost  hung  over  the  taller  splotch  of  black  that 
marked  the  trees  surrounding  the  big  house. 

Don  said:  'TEvery  night  as  soon  as  it  grows  dark 
I  come  out  of  my  hole  and  lean  on  the  fence  and  watch 
the  house  and  wonder  what  you  are  doing  inside.  Why 
is  it  I  never  see  a  light  in  any  of  the  windows  facing 
this  way?" 

"It  just  happens  that  none  of  those  rooms  are  used," 
Pen  said.  "In  the  main  house  the  back  drawing-room 
and  the  guest  room  have  windows  facing  this  way,  and 
in  the  kitchen  wing  there  is  the  back  kitchen  and 
two  servants'  rooms  upstairs.  .  .  .  After  this  every 
night  I'll  put  a  light  in  one  of  the  servants'  rooms  to 
tell  you  all  is  well.  And  when  it  goes  out  you'll  know 
I'm  starting.  And  if  it  goes  out  and  comes  on  again 
you'll  know  I'm  prevented  from  coming." 

"That  would  be  bad  news,"  he  said. 

"We  might  get  up  a  regular  code  of  signals,"  Pen 
went  on.  "Suppose  there  was  danger,  and  I  couldn't 


142  Ramshackle  House 

come  to  warn  you.  Suppose  I  wanted  to  tell  you  to 
change  your  camp." 

"We'd  have  to  fix  on  some  spot  beforehand  so  you 
would  know  where  to  find  me." 

"That's  the  difficulty.  I  don't  know  any  place  safer 
than  this.  What  place  would  be  safe  if  they  took  it 
into  their  heads  to  search  the  woods?  .  .  .  There  is 
a  safe  place  though,  that  I  have  thought  of." 

"Where's  that?" 

"In  the  house  itself." 

"What!"  he  exclaimed. 

"If  I  could  once  get  you  inside  we  could  snap  our 
fingers  at  them." 

"How  about  the  servants?" 

"I  wouldn't  tell  them.  Aunt  Maria  never  goes  up- 
stairs. I  tend  to  the  upstairs  myself.  The  third  floor 
of  the  house  is  never  visited  at  all." 

"Oh  Pen,  I  couldn't!" 

"Why  not?"  she  demanded. 

"To  hide  behind  your  skirts  like  that!" 

"I  thought  you  were  going  to  drop  that  nonsense." 

"It  dies  hard!"  he  groaned. 

"Well,  if  you're  so  reluctant  to  come  to  my  house 
where  I  could  see  you  as  much  as  I  wanted,"  she  said 
sorely,  "I  won't  ask  you  unless  I  am  forced  to  ... 
But  if  it  should  be  necessary  .  .  .  Listen!  .  .  .  I'll 
put  a  light  in  each  of  the  rooms  over  the  kitchen.  If 
you  see  two  lights  shining  this  way  you  are  to  hide  all 
your  things  as  well  as  you  can,  and  come  to  the  house." 

"Where  would  I  meet  you?" 

"I  won't  meet  you  outside.  It  would  double  the 
risk  for  the  two  of  us  to  try  to  get  into  the  house  to- 


Moonlight  143 

gether.  Listen !  Make  your  way  over  the  fields  with- 
out going  near  the  road.  Give  the  negro  cabin  a  wide 
berth.  When  you  are  abreast  of  the  big  house  strike 
for  the  evergreen  hedge  that  bounds  that  side  of  the 
grounds.  You'll  find  a  gap  in  it,  broken  by  the  wind. 
You  know  how  the  porch  runs  around  three  sides  of 
the  main  building.  At  the  end  of  the  porch  on  that 
side  there's  a  rough  clump  of  mock  orange  bushes. 
Behind  the  bushes  you'll  find  a  way  into  the  cellar. 
That's  how  I  go  and  come.  I'll  be  waiting  for  you 
in  the  cellar.  Or  if  I'm  not  there  wait  till  I  come." 

"Oh  Pen,  I  hate  skulking  1" 

"I  love  it!"  said  Pen.  "If  I  know  I'm  in  the  right. 
It's  an  adventure  1" 

They  came  to  the  tree  where  they  had  left  the 
grass  bag  hanging. 

"Well  .  .  ."  began  Pen. 

Don  swung  her  around  inside  his  arm.  "Oh  my  Pen, 
how  can  I  let  you  go  to-night?"  he  groaned. 

"Ah,  don't  kiss  me  any  more,"  she  pleaded.  "I 
don't  want  to  be  drowned  again.  I  want  to  know 
I'm  loving  you." 

"But  I  must  before  I  lose  you!" 

She  laid  restraining  hands  on  his  arms.  "Listen, 
dear,"  she  murmured.  "There's  something  I  want  to 
tell  you.  From  the  very  bottom  of  my  heart  it  comes. 
I  love  you  so  much  you  can  make  me  your  slave  if 
you  want.  But  you  should  have  pity  on  me.  You 
should  help  me  to  keep  myself  separate.  For  both  our 
sakes.  If  sometimes  I  seem  perverse  and  tricksy  to 
you  it  is  only  because  of  the  desperate  need  I  have 
to  keep  something  of  myself  back.  If  I  become  swal- 


144  Ramshackle  House 

lowed  up  in  you  as  most  women  do  in  their  men  you'll 
tire  of  me.  I'll  lose  my  flavor  for  you.  Let  me  give 
myself  to  you  a  mouthful  at  a  time.  Don't  swallow 
me  whole  1" 

He  but  dimly  understood  her.  "I'll  try!"  he  said 
between  a  laugh  and  a  groan.  "You  funny  darling 
child!  .  .  .  But  how  can  I  keep  from  kissing  you?" 

"I  don't  want  you  always  to  keep  from  it,"  Pen  said. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  TRIP  TO   TOWN 

ON  Tuesday  morning  Pen,  dressed  for  town,  wast 
breakfasting  with  her  father  in  the  high-ceilinged, 
shabby  dining-room. 

The  elder  Pendleton  pushed  his  plate  from  him  and 
with  an  ostentatiously  careless  air,  took  a  packet  of 
crisp  bills  from  his  breast  pocket  and  commenced  to 
count  them.  It  was  hard  to  get  any  change  out  of 
Pen,  but  this  time  she  laid  down  her  fork  and  frankly 
stared. 

"Where  did  you  get  it?"  she  demanded. 

Pendleton  exulted  in  the  effect  he  was  creating.  He 
had  rehearsed  an  answer  to  the  inevitable  question, 
"I  didn't  steal  it,  my  dear." 

Pen  refused  to  be  diverted.  "Where  did  you 
get  it?" 

"I  sold  some  lots." 

"To  Mr.  Riever?" 

"None  other." 

"Oh,  how  could  you?"  she  cried  involuntarily. 

"And  why  not,  I  should  like  to  know?"  he  demand* 
ed,  up  in  arms  immediately.  Clearly  his  conscience 
was  bad,  though  he  appeared  to  have  reason  on  his 
side. 

Pen  was  helplessly  silent. 

"I  consider  it  an  excellent  stroke  of  business  every 

us 


146  Ramshackle  House 

way,"  Pendleton  went  on,  puffing  a  little.  "It  secures 
his  interest  in  the  railway." 

"He  has  no  interest  in  the  railway." 

"Then  why  should  he  buy  the  lots?" 

"He's  buying  you." 

Pendleton  gave  the  bills  a  flirt-  "Well  I  didn't  sell 
myself  too  cheap,"  he  said  with  maddening  compla- 
cency. 

Pen  fumed  in  silence. 

Pendleton  began  to  count  off  some  of  the  bills.  "I 
want  you  to  take  some  of  this,"  he  said. 

"What  for?"  said  Pen. 

"To  replenish  your  wardrobe." 

"Not  a  cent!"  said  Pen  indignantly.  Reflecting  that 
she  was  betraying  too  much  heat  she  added:  "I  have 
plenty  of  clothes  for  down  here." 

"Your  summer  dresses  that  you  make  yourself  are 
very  pretty,  very  pretty,"  said  Pendleton  mollifyingly. 
"But  I'm  sure  you  must  be  in  want  of  the  expensive 
little  appurtenances  of  a  lady's  wardrobe;  shoes,  silk 
stocking,  hats,  parasols." 

"What  would  I  be  doing  with  a  parasol  at  Broome's 
Point?"  demanded  Pen  with  a  snort  of  scorn. 

"A  smart  yachting  suit  would  be  nice,"  he  said  sug- 
gestively. 

But  Pen  looked  at  him  so  dangerously  he  made  haste 
to  add:'  "But  of  course  you  know  best.  You  know 
best  I" 

"Put  the  money  up,"  said  Pen  brusquely. 

"But  my  dear  .  .  .1" 

"I  refuse  to  dress  myself  at  Mr.  Riever's  expense. 
The  idea  is  revolting." 


The  Trip  to  Town  147 

"You  will  have  to  have  money  in  town  to-day." 

"I  have  a  little.  Enough  to  buy  a  pair  of  white 
shoes,  and  materials  to  retrim  my  last  summer's  hat. 
That  will  have  to  do." 

"I  don't  see  why  you  have  to  go  against  your  obvious 
interests,"  he  complained. 

Pen  looked  at  him  levelly.  "Let's  be  frank  with 
each  other,  Dad.  If  you  have  any  notion  of  Mr.  Rie- 
ver  and  I  making  a  match  of  it,  I  beg  that  you  will 
put  it  out  of  your  head.  The  idea  is  preposterous !" 

It  made  him  writhe  to  have  his  secret  wish  dragged 
out  into  the  crude  light  like  this,  nevertheless  he  was 
bound  to  fight  for  it  still.  "Why  is  it  preposterous?" 
he  demanded  bridling.  "He  wouldn't  be  stooping  to 
you?" 

"Perhaps  I  consider  that  I'd  be  stooping!"  said  Pen 
with  her  chin  up. 

He  ignored  it.  "It's  only  an  accident  that  we  are 
poor.  Remember  your  grandfather  had  his  place  at 
Newport  when  his  grandfather  was  still  swinging  a 
pick!" 

"That's  only  an  accident,  too,"  said  Pen.  "You  miss 
the  point.  The  question  is  not  altogether  whether  he 
wants  me,  but  whether  I  want  him." 

Pendleton  refused  to  take  her  seriously.  "Oh,  the 
fatal  Broome  pride !"  he  murmured. 

"He's  a  divorced  man,"  said  Pen  wickedly.  Her 
father  held  strong  views  on  the  subject. 

"We  must  not  judge,"  said  Pendleton  blandly. 
"Circumstances  alter  cases.  He  may  have  been  more 
sinned  against  than  sinning." 

Pen  smiled  wryly.     She  did  not  particularly  blame 


148  Ramshackle  House 

her  father.  It  was  at  poor  human  nature  that  she  was 
smiling. 

Encouraged  by  her  silence  he  went  on  loftily :  "Pride 
is  an  excellent  thing  in  its  way.  But  it  becomes  sui- 
cidal when  you  allow  it  to  blind  you  to  .  .  ." 

Pen  bluntly  interrupted  him.  "I  wouldn't  marry 
Mr.  Riever  if  he  was  the  last  man  on  earth!" 

She  saw,  however,  that  Pendleton  was  entirely  un- 
convinced. 

Presently  she  said:  "I  suppose  it  is  useless  to  ask 
you  to  return  that  money?" 

By  the  way  his  hand  closed  over  it,  by  the  look 
of  irresponsible  cupidity  that  appeared  in  his  eyes,  she 
saw  that  it  was  indeed  useless. 

"Then  it  ought  to  be  used  for  necessary  repairs  to 
the  place,"  she  went  on.  "If  we're  going  to  continue 
to  live  here,  the  house  must  be  painted,  the  roof  and 
the  porches  mended.  Modern  implements  ought  to  be 
got  for  the  farm." 

"I  will  consider  all  that,"  he  said  loftily. 

"Better  let  me  take  it  to  town  and  deposit  it,"  said 
Pen.  "It  will  make  too  much  talk  if  you  put  it  in  the 
Island  bank." 

He  shook  his  head  obstinately.  "It  will  improve 
our  credit  locally." 

Pen  shrugged  and  let  the  matter  drop.  After  all 
she  was  not  implicated.  Men  must  be  left  to  follow 
their  own  blind  ways,  she  told  herself. 

At  eight  o'clock  an  automobile  was  at  the  door. 
Riever's  people  having  had  the  worst  places  in  the 
road  mended  at  his  expense,  had  brought  this  car  down 
the  Neck  for  his  use  around  the  Point.  The  million- 


The  Trip  to  Town  149 

aire  resented  having  to  put  foot  to  the  common  earth 
any  more  than  he  could  help — or  perhaps  it  would  be 
more  correct  to  say  that  his  entourage  resented  it. 
Riever,  like  all  potentates,  was  largely  at  the  mercy 
of  his  entourage.  The  Alexandra  was  crowded  with 
"friends,"  secretaries,  servants  and  persons  of  unde- 
fined status  whose  sole  object  in  life  lay  in  maintaining 
Riever's  unacknowledged  state.  Three-quarters  of 
Pen  was  appalled  at  the  existence  of  such  a  situation 
in  a  democratic  country,  but  the  remaining  quarter  of 
her  found  it  undeniably  pleasant  to  share  in  his  state. 
Everything  about  Riever  moved  with  so  beautiful  a 
precision. 

For  instance,  she  was  carried  down  to  the  old 
steamboat  wharf  which  had  likewise  been  mended. 
As  the  automobile  turned  in  front  of  the  wharf  the 
speed-boat  drew  alongside  with  Riever  in  it.  They 
leaped  to  the  Island.  As  they  stepped  out  of  the  boat, 
before  them  was  the  car  to  take  them  to  town,  wait- 
ing with  its  engine  running.  Pen  saw  at  once  that  it 
was  not  one  of  the  ordinary  cars  used  to  carry  Riever's 
mail  back  and  forth,  but  a  vehicle  imported  for  this 
occasion.  It  was  an  astonishing  car  of  foreign  make, 
long  and  rakish  in  line  with  an  immense  aluminum 
engine  hood  and  a  smart,  diminutive,  coupe  body.  In 
other  words,  it  represented  unimagined  power  to  carry 
around  two  little  plutocrats;  the  last  word  in  luxury. 
The  driver  rode  outside. 

It  was  Pen's  first  ride  in  a  superlative  car.  The 
springs  were  miraculous.  One  was  but  faintly  aware 
of  wheels  underneath.  The  body  swam  along  as 
smoothly  as  a  high-bred  lady,  only  curtseying  slowly 


150  Ramshackle  House 

now  and  then  to  a  rut.  It  was  all  slightly  unreal  to 
Pen.  As  they  whirled  through  the  village  she  had 
glimpses  of  the  staring  Islanders.  It  was  only  too 
clear  what  they  were  thinking.  When  an  Island  boy 
and  his  girl  went  to  town  together  they  generally  came 
home  married. 

It  was  a  clear  fresh  morning.  .Pen  would  have 
loved  to  lean  back  in  her  cushioned  corner  and  give 
herself  up  to  the  flying  panorama  through  the  windows. 
Nowadays  there  are  few  roads  left  like  that  in  our 
country.  The  prospect  was  of  a  peaceful,  long-settled 
land  with  nothing  garish  nor  raw;  not  a  factory,  not 
a  railway,  not  a  rich  man's  house  the  whole  way.  But 
miles  of  pine  woods,  many  old  farms,  a  sleepy  village 
now  and  then,  glimpses  of  the  blue  Bay  from  high 
land;  a  rickety  bridge  over  an  arm  of  the  Bay. 

Unfortunately  Riever  wanted  to  talk.  It  wore  Pen 
out  to  talk  to  him  because  she  couldn't  be  frank.  Real 
frankness  was  unknown  to  Riever,  though  he  could 
be  amusing.  His  eyes  never  lost  their  watchfulness, 
nor  his  lips  their  superficial  smile.  This  morning  he 
was  not  amusing.  For  several  days  Pen  had  been 
aware  that  his  temper  was  suffering  as  a  result  of  the 
continued  non-success  of  his  efforts  to  run  down  Coun- 
sell.  To  Pen's  secret  dismay  he  commenced  to  talk 
about  it  now,  watching  her  keenly  meanwhile. 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  situation  at  the  Point?" 
he  asked. 

"How  do  you  mean?"  asked  Pen. 

"Counsell  appears  to  have  given  us  the  slip." 

Pen  said  to  herself:   "I  must  be  bold.     Half  meas* 


The  Trip  to  Town  151 

ures  will  never  deceive  him."  She  said  to  him  calmly: 
"I  hope  he  has." 

Riever  bit  his  lip.  "I  wish  I  knew  what  it  was  about 
murder  that  appeals  to  women's  imaginations,"  he 
sneered. 

"About  murder,  nothing,"  said  Pen  coolly.  "Not 
to  this  woman.  But  no  true  woman  could  help  sym- 
pathizing with  a  man  hunted  by  a  pack." 

"Even  if  he  was  guilty  of  a  foul  crime?" 

Pen  was  not  to  be  betrayed  into  declaring  her  be- 
lief in  Don's  innocence.  "Even  if  he  was  guilty,"  she 
said. 

"Then  what  about  justice?" 

"Well,  I  fancy  a  woman's  idea  of  justice  differs  from 
a  man's.  To  kill  for  killing  gets  us  nowhere." 

"I  thought  you  thought  him  innocent,"  said  Riever 
subtly. 

"How  can  one  tell?"  said  Pen.  "The  newspapers 
are  so  contradictory." 

"I  haven't  noticed  it,"  said  Riever.  "If  there's  any 
evidence  in  his  favor  it  hasn't  been  brought  to  my 
attention." 

Pen  seeing  that  she  had  made  a  slip,  adroitly  shifted 
to  new  ground.  "That's  just  it,"  she  said.  "The  news- 
papers are  so  clearly  prejudiced,  you  can't  help  but 
feel  there  is  another  side  to  the  story." 

"How  do  you  suppose  he  made  his  getaway?"  asked 
Riever,  still  watching  her.  "Every  yard  of  the  shore 
has  been  searched,  every  native  questioned." 

"Perhaps  he  paddled  across  the  Bay,"  said  Pen. 
"There  are  convenient  railways  over  on  the  Eastern 
shore." 


152  Ramshackle  House 

"But  we  had  our  men  there  next  day,"  said  Riever. 
"And  the  canoe  was  not  found.  No,  somebody  must 
be  hiding  him." 

"Very  likely,"  said  Pen  calmly. 

"But  there's  the  reward  I  offered,"  said  Riever. 
"You'd  think  that  would  be  tempting." 

"Oh  money  isn't  everything  to  everybody,"  said 
Pen. 

"You  think  maybe  some  maiden's  fancy  has  been 
caught  by  his  good  looks  ?"  he  sneered. 

Pen  looked  at  him  full.  "Oh,  do  you  think  he's 
good-looking?"  she  said  with  a  little  air  of  surprise. 

He  was  disconcerted.  "I?  No!  But  I'm  no  judge. 
At  college  they  seemed  to  think  him  a  regular  Phoebus 
Apollo,  men  and  women  alike." 

Pen  carried  the  war  straight  into  the  enemy's  camp. 
"You  did  not  like  him  at  college,  did  you?" 

"He  was  nothing  to  me  one  way  or  another,"  Riever 
said  carelessly.  "I  scarcely  ever  saw  him." 

"Liar!"  thought  Pen.  She  said:  "I  cannot  quite 
understand  your  attitude.  Why  are  you  so  bent  on 
running  him  down.  Is  there  an  old  score  to  settle 
between  you  two?" 

In  the  smooth  mask  of  his  face,  Riever's  eyes  were 
not  pleasant  to  see.  "No  indeed!"  he  said  with  a 
laugh.  "I  am  not  revengeful.  But  Dongan  was  my 
friend.  I  owe  it  to  his  memory." 

"I  appreciate  that,"  said  Pen.  "Still,  to  give  up 
everything,  and  come  down  here  yourself.  To  direct 
the  hunt  personally." 

"Delehanty  is  in  charge,  not  I,"  said  Riever 
quickly. 


The  Trip  to  Town  153 

Pen  let  it  go  at  that. 

"As  for  coming  down  here,"  Riever  went  on,  "that 
was  just  an  impulse.  I  was  so  shocked  at  the  moment 
I  could  think  of  nothing  else  .  .  .  Perhaps  it  was 
foolish.  But  I  can't  say  I  regret  it  because  it  has 
made  me  acquainted  with  you." 

"You  are  polite,"  said  Pen. 

"It's  more  than  that,"  said  Riever. 

After  awhile  he  said:  "You  will  not  be  sorry  to  see 
us  go  I'm  afraid." 

A  glad  cry  leaped  to  Pen's  lips:  "You  are  going!" 
But  she  caught  it  in  time.  "I  sha'n't  be  sorry  to  see 
the  last  of  Delehanty  and  his  crew,"  she  said  calmly. 

"And  the  rest  of  us?"  he  asked. 

"It  will  be  hard  to  settle  down  into  the  old  dull  rou- 
tine when  you  are  gone,"  she  said. 

"I  might  come  back,"  he  suggested. 

"Father  and  I  would  always  be  happy  to  see  you," 
said  Pen  demurely. 

Meanwhile  they  were  bowling  along  the  State  road 
at  better  than  forty  miles  an  hour,  but  so  smoothly 
that  Pen  had  no  sense  of  great  speed  except  when  she 
happened  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  some  astonished  face 
in  the  road.  They  had  a  highly  accomplished  chauf- 
feur at  the  wheel  and  the  heavy  car  held  her  speed 
up  hill  and  down  as  steadily  as  a  locomotive.  Woods, 
fields  and  villages  were  thrust  behind  them  with  no 
sense  of  effort. 

As  they  drew  near  to  Baltimore  Pen  began  to  won- 
der how  she  was  going  to  get  rid  of  Riever.  He  saved 
her  the  trouble  by  saying: 

"I  have  to  go  to  the  Hotel  Bellevue  for  a  confer- 


154  Ramshackle  House 

ence.  You'll  keep  the  car  of  course,  and  load  your 
purchases  right  into  it.  So  much  easier." 

Pen  would  have  liked  to  dispense  with  the  car  as 
well  as  its  owner,  but  did  not  see  how  that  was  to  be 
accomplished  plausibly.  At  any  rate  she  reflected, 
the  chauffeur  could  not  follow  her  into  the  stores. 
The  main  thing  was  to  be  rid  of  Riever.  But  she 
rejoiced  too  soon. 

He  said:  "I'm  taking  it  for  granted  you'll  lunch 
with  me  at  the  Bellevue.  We  breakfasted  so  early  I 
ordered  lunch  for  twelve-thirty." 

This  was  awkward.  "Oh,  I'm  sorry!"  said  Pen. 
"It  will  be  impossible  1" 

This  man  was  not  accustomed  to  be  denied  what  he 
wanted.  The  spoiled  child  leaped  out  of  his  eyes. 
"Why?"  he  demanded. 

"So  much  to  do,"  said  Pen.  "This  is  a  leisurely 
town.  Not  like  New  York.  It  takes  time  to  be 
waited  on." 

"But  you've  all  afternoon." 

Pen  was  patient,  for  her.  "But  think  how  seldom  I 
get  to  town.  I  couldn't  take  an  hour  or  two  off  for 
lunch." 

"Make  it  half  an  hour  then." 

"Please  excuse  me  to-day." 

"Oh,  very  well,"  he  said  in  a  pet.  "Pick  me  up  at 
the  Bellevue  whenever  you  are  through." 

He  was  in  a  hateful  temper  the  rest  of  the  way. 
When  he  thought  Pen  was  not  looking  at  him  his  eyes 
darted  sidelong  jealous  glances  at  her.  Clearly  his 
suspicions  were  aroused,  and  he  was  meditating  some 


The  Trip  to  Town  155 

sort  of  mischief.  It  was  a  catastrophe.  But  Pen  did 
not  see  how  she  could  have  acted  differently. 

It  lacked  a  few  minutes  of  eleven  when  they  reached 
town.  Riever  got  out  at  the  hotel,  and  Pen  went 
on  about  her  shopping  with  an  anxious  breast.  What 
would  he  do? 

She  was  soon  informed  on  that  score.  As  she  pro- 
ceeded from  store  to  store  she  kept  her  eyes  open 
about  her  and  became  aware  finally  of  a  man  that 
turned  up  wherever  she  went.  He  was  a  burly  indi- 
vidual dressed  in  clothes  too  warm  for  the  season,  and 
with  an  expression  of  unconsciousness  that  was  almost 
comical  in  its  transparency.  Spy  was  writ  large  on  him. 
Pen  was  a  little  appalled  by  this  evidence  of  her  ad- 
versary's power.  He  seemed  to  be  able  to  summon  his 
creatures  out  of  the  air.  She  reflected,  however,  that 
it  would  be  easy  enough  for  Riever  to  send  a  man 
from  his  mail  car  down  to  the  shopping  district  to  pick 
up  the  imported  car.  There  was  no  other  car  like  it. 

Pen  made  several  attempts  to  lose  her  follower  in 
the  crowds,  but  without  avail.  He  looked  like  a  fool, 
nevertheless  he  always  succeeded  in  nosing  her  out 
like  a  too  faithful  dog. 

At  noon  she  took  up  her  stand  in  front  of  the  notion 
counter  at  Douglas'  with  a  fast  beating  heart.  Out- 
side the  store  she  had  sought  to  dismiss  her  car,  say- 
ing she  didn't  know  how  long  she'd  be,  but  the  chauf- 
feur had  replied  that  he'd  find  a  place  to  park  nearby 
and  would  wait  as  long  as  she  liked.  Had  he  too, 
been  instructed  not  to  lose  her?  Inside  the  store  she 
would  not  look,  but  she  was  horribly  conscious  that 
the  burly  spy  was  somewhere  across  the  aisle  pretend- 


156  Ramshackle  House 

ing  to  examine  silver  articles.  Watched  or  not,  she 
had  to  keep  her  appointment.  If  the  girl  obeyed  in- 
structions all  might  yet  be  well.  There  would  be  noth- 
ing strange  in  her  meeting  a  girl  friend  in  a  depart- 
ment store.  But  probably  she  would  not  look  like 
a  friend.  Nevertheless,  Pen's  great  fear  was  that 
the  girl  would  not  come  at  all.  She  already  felt  flat 
and  despairing  in  prospect. 

Pen  could  not  appear  to  be  looking  for  anybody. 
With  sightless  eyes  she  inspected  the  stock  of  notions. 
There  were  scores  of  little  baskets  displaying  pins, 
hair-pins,  fasteners,  tapes,  hair-nets,  all  the  multitudi- 
nous contrivances  with  which  women  keep  themselves 
together.  It  is  the  busiest  counter  in  a  department 
store.  Perspiring  women  elbowed  her  on  either  hand. 
An  exasperated  voice  said  at  her  shoulder: 

"If  you  don't  want  anything  here  would  you  kindly 
give  me  room!" 

Pen  in  a  daze,  gave  way.  She  was  saying  to  her- 
self: "She'll  never  come.  It  was  a  wild  scheme. 
You're  only  wasting  your  time  .  .  ." 

Suddenly  a  high-pitched,  metallic  voice  beside  her 
exclaimed:  "Well  of  all  people!  How  are  you?" 

Pen  jumped  as  if  the  last  thing  in  the  world  she  ex- 
pected was  to  be  addressed.  Half  a  dozen  women 
turned  around.  Pen  seemed  to  shrivel  under  their 
glances.  But  the  other  girl  carried  it  off  well.  She 
was  talking  continually.  Pen  got  a  flash  of  hard, 
bright  black  eyes  and  a  brilliant  tight  smile.  It  dis- 
concerted her.  She  had  expected — well,  some  sort  of 
a  pathetic  figure.  These  eyes  expressed  an  infinite 


The  Trip  to  Town  157 

sophistication  that  seemed  to  open  a  gulf  between 
them. 

Pen's  lapse  was  but  momentary.  Out  of  the  tail 
of  her  eye  she  saw  a  burly  figure  pushing  across  the 
aisle,  and  the  emergency  nerved  her.  With  an  auto- 
matic reflection  of  the  other  girl's  manner  she  began 
to  talk  back: 

"Upon  my  word!  Who  would  ever  have  expected 
to  find  you  here?"  Without  changing  her  smile  she 
murmured:  "We're  watched.  He's  coming  this 
way." 

The  other  girl's  eyes  signaled:  "I  get  you  I"  She 
Said  loudly:  "How  are  all  the  folks?" 

"Much  the  same  as  usual,"  said  Pen. 

The  burly  one  brushed  by,  his  foolish  eyes  looking 
everywhere  but  at  them,  his  mouth  pursed  up  to 
whistle. 

When  he  had  gone  by,  "Bull"  murmured  the  black- 
eyed  girl  out  of  the  corner  of  her  mouth.  "Pure-bred 
Jersey."  Aloud  she  said  vivaciously:  "You  must  tell 
me  all  about  everybody.  Let's  get  out  of  this  jam." 

With  a  hand  under  Pen's  elbow,  she  steered  her 
out  of  the  press.  Crossing  the  aisle  they  struck  into 
a  side  aisle,  deserted  for  the  moment.  Here  the  man 
could  not  come  close  enough  to  overhear  their  talk 
without  giving  himself  away  completely.  They  could 
see  him  loitering  in  the  main  aisle  uncertain  what  to  do. 

The  black-eyed  girl  was  an  admirable  actress.  She 
kept  up  a  running  fire  of  questions:  "How's  Alfred? 
And  the  old  man?  And  Maud?" 

Pen's  spirits  rose  fast.  It  was  dangerous,  and  it 
was  fun.  A  genuine  smile  replaced  the  mechanical 


158  Ramshackle  House 

one.  She  rattled  off  some  kind  of  answers,  surprised 
at  her  own  talkativeness. 

Meanwhile  the  two  were  busily  sizing  each  other 
up,  Pen  with  shy  glances,  the  other  with  bold  ones. 
Pen  saw  a  little  creature  beautifully  formed,  very 
pretty  too,  with  petulant,  doll-like  features,  franklj 
made  up.  The  idea  of  the  make-up  was  not  to  imitate 
nature,  but  to  create  an  original  artistic  effect.  She 
was  smartly  dressed  in  a  plain  black  silk  slip  confined 
by  a  beaded  girdle,  impudent  little  close-fitting  hat, 
expensive  gray  slippers  and  stockings.  She  carried  an 
exotic  little  beaded  bag.  She  might  have  been  any- 
thing or  anybody  almost.  It  is  so  hard  to  tell  nowa- 
days. Certainly  she  .did  not  smack  of  the  underworld 
as  Pen  imagined  it.  But  Pen  perhaps  was  not  much 
of  a  judge. 

On  the  other  hand  Pen  could  hardly  have  been  mis- 
taken for  anything  but  what  she  was.  There  was  a. 
sort  of  open  reticence  in  her,  a  high  unaffectedness 
that  was  in  her  blood  and  could  not  be  hidden  nor 
imitated.  With  all  her  assurance  the  other  girl  re- 
sented it  a  little.  Without  changing  her  outward 
manner  the  black-eyed  one  said: 

"Well,  what's  the  big  idea,  Miss?  I  don't  get  you 
at  all.  Are  you  a  bull  yourself?" 

"No,"  said  Pen  smiling. 

"Well,  if  you  are  you're  a  new  type.  I  know  them 
all.  What  did  you  get  me  down  among  the  orioles  for? 
Nobody  down  here's  got  anything  on  me." 

"I  want  to  be  your  friend,"  said  Pen. 

The  other  pulled  down  the  corners  of  her  lips  mock- 
ingly. "Old  stuff,  sister.  Every  con  game  that  ever 


The  Trip  to  Town  159 

was  started  opened  with  that.  Can  the  friendship. 
You'll  need  it  next  winter.  Give  it  to  me  straight. 
What's  the  likes  of  you  doing,  trailed  by  a  bull?" 

"It's  a  long  story,"  said  Pen. 

"Well,  my  hearing's  good." 

"If  we  could  get  away  somewhere  .  .  ." 

"Nothing  doing!  No  back  alley  work  for  me.  This 
is  a  first-rate  public  situation.  Speak  your  piece." 

"I  can't,"  said  Pen  helplessly.  "There  must  be  con- 
fidence between  us  first.  You  must  know  that  it  is 
something  I  can't  blurt  out  in  a  place  like  this." 

The  black  eyes  bored  her  through  and  through. 
Curiosity  and  suspicion  were  struggling  there.  It  was 
strongly  in  Pen's  favor,  however,  that  she  was  being 
tracked  by  a  detective.  "Do  you  live  in  this  town?" 
the  girl  demanded. 

"No,"  said  Pen.     "I  came  here  to  meet  you." 

"Are  you  alone  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  I  warn  you  I'm  not.  If  anything  is  to  be 
tried  on,  I  got  a  husky  friend  with  me." 

Pen,  glancing  around  guardedly,  had  no  great  dif- 
ficulty in  picking  him  out — a  nonchalant  youth  leaning 
against  a  bargain  counter.  He  was  very  well  dressed 
in  sporting  style,  topped  with  an  exaggerated  flat 
tweed  cap.  His  cheeks  were  as  smooth  and  pink  as  a 
girl's,  but  the  glance  of  his  blue  eyes  was  disillusioned. 

"He  may  look  like  a  boy  soprano,"  said  the  girl 
dryly,  "but  I  assure  you  he  sings  double-bass.  It's 
Babe  Riordan,  side  partner  of  Spike's,  that  I  brought 
along.  Understand  wherever  I  go  the  Babe  goes  too." 

"All  right,"  said  Pen. 


160  Ramshackle  House 

"Well,  what  do  you  propose?" 

"I'd  rather  leave  it  to  you,"  said  Pen. 

Another  lightning-like  dart  of  the  black  eyes.  "Oh ! 
.  .  .  Well,  a  room  in  a  hotel's  the  safest  place.  The 
leading  hotel  here  is  the  Bellevue.  .  .  ." 

"Oh,  not  there,"  said  Pen. 

"Why  not?" 

"He  .  .  .  the  man  I  want  to  tell  you  about  is 
there." 

The  girl  took  three  steps  to  a  counter  where  there 
was  a  salesgirl  disengaged.  "What's  the  biggest  hotel 
here  next  to  the  Bellevue?"  she  asked. 

"The  Southland." 

"Thanks."  She  returned  to  Pen.  "Make  it  the 
Southland  in  half  an  hour." 

"But  the  detective,"  said  Pen. 

"Pooh!  He's  just  out  of  the  egg,"  said  the  other 
with  a  scornful  glance.  "He's  still  got  his  pin  feathers 
stickin'  on  him.  Listen.  Babe  and  I  will  take  a  room 
at  the  hotel  and  you  come  call  on  us,  see?  That  bird 
couldn't  follow  you  up,  could  he?" 

"No,  but  he  might  hear  me  ask  for  you  at  the  desk." 

"Don't  ask.  Listen.  Babe  will  be  watching  for  you 
in  the  lobby.  He'll  be  sitting  there  reading  a  paper. 
You  stroll  by  him  and  if  everything's  all  right  he'll 
flash  a  card  under  the  paper  with  the  room  number 
on  it,  see?  You  get  the  number  in  your  head  and 
come  right  up  in  the  elevator." 

Pen  could  not  but  admire  the  little  creature's 
strategy. 

But  the  black  eyes  narrowed  suspiciously  again. 
"Mind,  if  there's  any  funny  work  about  this,  if  there's 


The  Trip  to  Town  161 

anybody  near  you  when  you  come  by  Babe  you  don't 
get  the  room  number,  see?" 

Pen  nodded. 

The  little  one  lifted  her  voice  blithely :  "Well  ta-ta 
old  girl.  Call  me  up  some  time  and  we'll  make  a  date 
to  lunch  together.  Remember  me  to  the  folks." 

She  pattered  coolly  away  in  the  direction  of  the  burly 
loiterer,  and  brushed  by  him  with  a  negligent  hand 
at  her  black  hair.  Pen  turned  in  the  other  direction. 
The  detective  came  after  her.  As  she  was  about  to 
leave  the  store  she  saw  her  opportunity.  An  elevator 
door  was  just  about  to  close.  She  slipped  inside  and 
was  carried  aloft.  Her  follower  had  to  wait  for  the 
next  car.  She  crossed  the  building  on  an  upper  floor, 
came  down  in  a  car  on  the  other  side,  and  got  out  of 
the  store  without  seeing  the  man  again. 

Half  an  hour  later  she  was  knocking  at  the  door 
of  room  1214  in  the  Southland  Hotel.  The  door  was 
opened  by  one  who  remained  invisible.  Pen  walked 
in  with  her  heart  in  her  mouth.  Blanche  was  behind 
the  door.  She  was  smoking  a  cigarette.  At  the  sight 
of  Pen's  face  she  laughed. 

"For  Mike's  sake  don't  look  so  scared,  sister.  Any 
bull  would  arrest  you  on  suspish  with  that  face.  Where 
is  he?" 

"I  shook  him  off  in  the  store,"  said  Pen. 

"Good  work!"  Blanche  seemed  disposed  to  "be 
friendlier,  but  was  still  wary.  She  said  offhand: 
"Just  to  be  fair  and  aboveboard  I  ought  to  tell  you  I 
carry  a  gun,  sister."  She  held  up  the  little  beaded 
bag.  It  had  no  draw-string,  and  she  carried  it  clutched 
about  the  neck.  When  she  relaxed  her  grasp  it  opened 


162  Ramshackle  House 

wide  revealing  a  wicked  little  automatic  among  her 
make-up. 

Pen  shrank  back,  and  Blanche  laughed  again.  "You 
are  a  tender  sprout!" 

"Is  that  boy  coming  up  here?"  asked  Pen  anxiously. 

"Sure!" 

"Couldn't  I  talk  to  you  without  him?" 

"Nothing  doing!     It  'ud  hurt  his  feelings." 

"I've  got  things  to  tell  you  I  couldn't  say  before  a 
man!" 

Blanche  frowned.  "Say,  you  talk  like  a  fillum!" 
She  studied  Pen  afresh.  "You  don't  look  dangerous 
but  .  .  .  Say,  you  got  to  give  me  some  line  on  your 
game  or  nothin'  doin'  1" 

"You've  got  to  trust  me,"  said  Pen  earnestly,  "or 
we've  had  all  our  trouble  for  nothing." 

"Trusting's  not  what  I'm  good  at,  sister,"  said 
Blanche  with  a  vigorous  gesture.  "You  give  me  some 
line  on  your  game  first.  Who  the  Hell  are  you?" 

"Well  I'm  going  to  trust  you,"  said  Pen.  She 
spread  out  her  arms.  "I'm  Pendleton  Broome." 

For  once  the  little  creature  was  shaken  out  of  her 
uncanny  self-possession.  She  whistled  like  a  boy.  Her 
eyes  glistened  with  excitement.  "The  Don  Counsell 
case!"  she  exclaimed.  "You're  in  that!  .  .  .  Good 
God!  has  it  got  anything  to  do  with  me  .  .  .  with 
Spike?" 

"I  think  it  has,"  said  Pen.  "That's  for  you  to  say 
when  I've  told  you  all  I  know." 

"Well  shoot!   .  .  .  shoot!"  said  Blanche  excitedly. 

They    heard    steps    coming    along    the     corridor. 


The  Trip  to  Town  163 

Blanche  laid  a  hand  on  Pen's  arm.  "Maybe  it  would 
be  just  as  well  if  we  saved  Babe's  tender  ears.  ..." 

Babe  himself  opened  the  door  and  walked  in. 

Pen  observed  at  close  range  that  his  years  probably 
numbered  a  few  more  than  the  eighteen  she  had  at  first 
given  him.  He  was  a  graceful  youth  and  a  comely 
one,  but  his  blue  eyes  were  as  hard  as  china.  Both 
Blanche  and  the  Babe  had  the  look  of  unnatural  high 
school  children.  Like  actors  they  carefully  cultivated 
and  played  up  this  infantile  effect.  The  hard  eyes  of 
the  young-old  pair  afflicted  Pen  with  a  kind  of  despair. 
How  could  she  hope  to  win  such  eyes  ? 

The  young  man  pulled  off  his  cap  and  bobbed  his 
head  in  Pen's  direction.  There  was  something  about 
her  that  made  him  distrust  his  manners.  His  disillu- 
sioned eyes  suggested  that  he  could  be  masterful 
enough  with  his  own  kind  of  girl. 

"Our  friend  here  says  her  tale  ain't  fit  for  men's 
ears,"  said  Blanche  flippantly. 

The  young  man  scowled  without  looking  at  Pen. 
"What  does  she  take  us  for,  a  pair  of  suckers?" 

"Oh,  I'm  not  afraid  of  her,"  said  Blanche.  "I 
know  who  she  is." 

"Who  is  she?"  he  asked,  as  if  Pen  were  not  present. 

"Tell  you  later  when  I've  heard  the  whole  story." 

He  hesitated,  scowling. 

"Toddle  along!"  said  Blanche. 

"You're  foolish,"  he  muttered. 

The  black  eyes  flashed  on  him.  "That's  for  me  to 
say!" 

Pen  thought  with  rising  hope:  "She's  beginning  to 
accept  me." 


164  Ramshackle  House 

"Wait  a  minute,"  said  Blanche.  "I'll  satisfy  you." 
To  Pen  she  said  suddenly:  "Put  up  your  hands!" 

"What  for?"  stammered  Pen. 

They  jeered  at  her  innocence.  "Put  up  your  hands  I"* 
repeated  Blanche. 

Pen  obeyed,  and  Blanche  with  flying,  practiced 
hands  felt  of  her  all  over,  while  the  young  man  stood 
by.  Blanche  nodded  reassuringly  to  the  Babe. 

"I'll  wait  outside,"  he  said  surlily. 

"Oh,  if  she  wants  to  mix  it  up  I'll  oblige  her,"  said 
Blanche  in  her  flip  way.  "Though  she  is  bigger  than 
me." 

"I'll  wait  outside,"  he  repeated. 

"Yes,"  said  Blanche  sarcastically,  "and  have  the 
maid  report  you  to  the  office  as  a  suspicious  character. 
Go  down  and  read  your  paper.  I'll  send  a  boy  for 
you." 

He  went. 

Blanche  turned  mockingly  to  Pen.  "Now,  darling!" 

Pen  felt  dimly  that  her  flippant  mockery  concealed  a 
sort  of  despair.  She  could  admire  the  little  creature's 
gameness  and  hardihood,  but  could  not  possibly  meet 
her  on  that  ground.  It  rendered  her  helpless.  Mean- 
while Blanche  took  a  fresh  cigarette,  and  called  Pen's 
attention  to  the  packet  with  a  jerk  of  her  head.  Pen 
shook  her  head. 

"Well  don't  stand  there  like  a  wax-work  in  a  store- 
window,"  said  Blanche.  "Disjoint  yourself." 

Pen  sat  in  an  armchair  with  her  back  to  one  of 
the  windows.  She  groped  within  herself  for  some- 
thing to  go  on  with.  But  she  felt  empty.  Blanche 
moved  restlessly  around  the  room;  plumped  herself  on 


The  Trip  to  Town  165 

the  edge  of  the  bed,  and  jumped  up  again.  She  glanced 
at  Pen  with  increasing  irritation.  Apparently  a  silence 
drove  her  wild. 

"You're  so  different  from  what  I  expected,"  Pen 
murmured  at  last,  "I  scarcely  know  how  to  begin." 

"What  did  you  expect?"  queried  Blanche.  "A  sing- 
ing canary?" 

"I  don't  know  ...  I  got  the  idea  from  the  news- 
paper that  you  were  in  trouble." 

Blanche  stared,  then  laughed  metallically.  "Not 
me !"  she  said  coolly.  "I  wasn't  born  yesterday." 

Pen  perceived  the  nature  of  the  misunderstanding, 
and  blushed.  "I  mean,  I  thought  you'd  lost  somebody 
.  .  .  that  you  cared  for." 

Blanche  bared  her  teeth  suddenly  like  a  hurt  animal. 
"Keep  off  that!"  she  said  sharply. 

"But  that's  why  I  wrote  to  you." 

"Say !"  cried  Blanche,  ugly  and  callous,  "if  it's  only, 
sob-stuff  you're  after,  you  come  to  the  wrong  shop, 
see?  I  don't  deal  in  it!  Me,  I'm  water-tight  and 
nickel-plated!" 

"Why  can't  you  be  natural  with  me?"  murmured 
Pen. 

"I  am  natural.  If  I  wanted  to  work  you  for  any- 
thing, I  could  turn  the  wringer  till  the  tub  overflowed. 
I'm  famous  for  it.  Real  tears  without  the  aid  of  the 
glycerine  bottle.  But  you  said  you  wanted  to  be  on 
the  level." 

"Do  I  look  soft?"  challenged  Pen. 

"Don't  ask  me,"  said  Blanche,  refusing  to  look  at 
her.  "I  don't  get  you  at  all.  You're  completely  out- 
side my  experience." 


166  Ramshackle  House 

Pen  tried  another  line.  "Have  you  been  reading 
the  newspapers  about  the  Counsell  case?" 

"Off  and  on.    I've  had  troubles  of  my  own." 

"Well,"  Pen  said  low-voiced — it  cost  her  an  effort 
to  get  it  out,  "Don  Counsell  is  to  me  what  I  suppose 
Henry  Talley  was  to  you." 

If  Blanche  was  softened  she  showed  it  in  a  sort  of 
back-handed  way.  "You  mean  Spike,"  she  said, 
"That's  all  he  answered  to." 

Pen's  instinct  began  to  show  her  the  way.  "How 
did  he  get  that  name?"  she  asked  casually. 

Blanche  fell  into  her  little  trap.  She  was  standing 
at  the  other  window  idly  twisting  the  cord  of  the  blind 
between  thumb  and  forefinger.  Her  back  was  to  Pen. 
Her  voice  came  muffled  and  jerky. 

"Because  he  was  so  tall.  And  slender.  But  not 
a  gowk  neither.  A  peach  of  a  figure.  Thoroughbred. 
Stripped  he  weighed  155,  and  not  an  ounce  to  spare. 
A  runner,  a  swimmer,  a  boxer;  anything  that  needed 
speed  and  wind.  And  a  dancer.  The  best  dancer  at 
Steck's  pavilion.  Everything  he  did,  he  did  out  OT 
sight!  Class,  too.  He  could  pass  anywhere  as  a 
college  boy  or  a  Wall  Street  broker." 

She  suddenly  whirled  around.  "He  was  a  gunman !" 
she  cried  defiantly.  "Make  what  you  like  of  itl  He 
never  asked  for  the  good  opinion  of  the  likes  of  you, 
and  neither  do  II  He  was  the  coolest  head  of  the  lot. 
He  went  to  his  mark  like  a  bulldog,  and  nothing  could 
shake  him  off.  What  have  you  got  to  do  with  the  likes 
of  us?  What  do  I  care  what  you  think?  Both  him 
and  me  had  to  fight  our  way  since  we  were  kids.  We 
weren't  going  to  take  scraps  from  the  tables  of  the 


The  Trip  to  Town  167 

rich.  We  were  out  to  get  the  best  there  was  for  our- 
selves. We  were  outsiders.  Well,  the  insiders  were 
our  enemies,  and  we  went  after  them!" 

She  turned  back  to  the  window  and  began  to  sob  in 
a  hard,  dry  way  that  scared  Pen.  The  hurrying,  tone- 
less voice  went  on.  "To  everybody  else  he  was  cool 
and  smooth  as  hard  enamel.  Not  to  me.  He  was  hu- 
man to  me.  Lighthearted  as  a  boy  when  there  was  no 
business  on  hand.  You  were  sure  of  having  a  good 
time  with  Spike.  Make  you  die  laughing  with  his  wild, 
comical  ways.  He  was  a  man.  He  was  real.  There 
was  a  fire  in  him  .  .  .  Oh  God!" 

She  turned  and  flung  herself  face  down  across  the 
bed,  her  arms  hanging  down  the  other  side.  "He's 
gone!  He's  gone!"  she  moaned.  "And  I'm  left! 
.  .  .  Oh  God,  I  can't  bear  it!" 

Pen  went  and  sat  on  the  bed,  and  put  a  hand  on  the 
other  girl's  shoulder.  Blanche  flung  it  off  roughly. 
Rolling  over,  she  sat  up  with  her  tormented  face  not 
a  foot  away  from  Pen's.  Pen  did  not  shrink. 

"You  talk  about  loving  a  man!  I  know  how  your 
kind  loves.  Cool  and  dainty!  What  do  you  know 
about  loving,  brought  up  good  with  a  home  and  a 
family  and  all?  Everything  provided  for  you.  I  never 
had  nothing!  Till  I  got  him.  He  was  the  first  who 
ever  belonged  to  me.  ...  I  had  to  fight  every  inch  of 
my  way  and  be  on  guard  every  minute.  He  had  to,  too, 
just  the  same.  But  we  could  let  down  with  each  other! 
It  eased  us!" 

She  flung  herself  down  in  another  wild  burst  of 
weeping. 


168  Ramshackle  House 

Pen  let  it  wear  itself  out.  "I  am  just  the  same  as 
you  underneath,"  she  murmured. 

Blanche  quieted  down.  In  her  abrupt  way  she  got 
to  h;r  feet  and  went  to  the  bureau.  Emptying  out  the 
little  beaded  bag,  she  commenced  to  rub  fresh  color 
into  her  cheeks,  making  strange  faces  into  the  glass 
meanwhile.  But  the  tears  flowed  faster  than  she  could 
repair  the  damage. 

"Oh  damn!"  she  cried,  throwing  down  the  rouge 
pad. 

She  drifted  around  the  room  with  her  lithe,  abrupt 
movements  like  a  diminutive  tigress,  the  baby  face  all 
woebegone  and  hollowed.  "Why  couldn't  you  leave 
me  alone?"  she  said  crossly.  "What'd  you  want  to  get 
me  going  for!  Now  you  know  what's  inside  I  hope 
you're  satisfied!" 

Notwithstanding  the  querulous  tone  Pen  saw  that 
she  had  been  accepted  as  a  fellow-woman.  There  was 
no  more  strangeness  between  them. 

"What  do  you  want  of  me?"  Blanche  went  on. 
"What  good  am  I  to  anybody  now?  For  two  cents 
I'd  fling  myself  out  of  the  window  and  end  it." 

"I  thought  you'd  want  to  know  what  happened  to 
Spike  Talley,"  said  Pen. 

It  had  an  electrical  effect  on  Blanche.  She  ran  to 
Pen.  "Do  you  know?  Do  you  know?  Do  you 
know?"  she  demanded,  moving  her  little  clenched 
fists  up  and  down. 

"I  have  only  a  suspicion.  We  must  follow  it  out 
together." 

"Well,  open  it!  open  it!" 


The  Trip  to  Town  169 

Her  tigerish  look  gave  Pen  a  fresh  fear.  "You 
must  promise  me  something!" 

"Oh,  my  God!    What?" 

"Not  to  try  to  take  the  law  into  your  own  hagds." 

"What  are  you  trying  to  protect  the  man  for?" 

"I'm  not  trying  to  protect  him.  I  want  to  bring 
him  into  the  prisoner's  dock." 

"Well,  I  promise,"  said  Blanche  unwillingly.  "Who 
was  it?" 

"Do  you  know  who  Spike  Talley  was  working  for 
when  he  disappeared?" 

"No!"  cried  Blanche.  "Don't  torment  me  with 
any  more  questions.  Who  was  it?" 

"I  suspect  it  was  Ernest  Riever." 

The  great  name  pulled  Blanche  up  short.  She 
stared  at  Pen  with  wide  troubled  eyes.  "What  for?" 
she  whispered  hoarsely. 

"Would  you  mind  very  much,"  Pen  faltered,  "if  I 
said  I  suspected  that  it  was  Spike  Talley  who  shot 
Collis  Dongan?" 

Blanche  smiled  scornfully.  "Not  at  all,"  she  said 
coolly.  "If  it  was  his  job."  Her  eyes  widened  again. 
"I  begin  to  get  you,"  she  said  slowly.  "You  mean 
Riever  hired  Spike  .  .  .  and  when  the  job  was  done 
.  .  .  croaked  him?" 

Pen  nodded. 

"Maybe  so,"  said  Blanche  somberly.  "What  do  you 
know?" 

Pen  told  her.  "You  see  it's  next  to  nothing,"  she  said 
agitatedly.  "They  wouldn't  call  it  evidence.  .  .  .  Just 
the  same  /  know!  .  .  .  What  can  you  add  to  it?" 
she  implored,  clasping  her  hands. 


170  Ramshackle  House 

Blanche  stood  with  withdrawn  gaze  like  a  little 
statue  of  abstraction.  "Not  much  .  .  .  right  off  the 
bat,"  she  murmured.  "But  it's  a  working  theory. 
Things  can  be  found  out  .  .  .  Funny  it  never  struck  me 
that  Dongan  was  killed  the  night  Spike  disappeared, 
...  I  knew  Spike  was  on  a  job,  too.  .  .  .  But  every- 
body said  Counsell  did  that.  ...  I  can  tell  you  one 
thing.  It  was  a  rich  man  Spike  was  working  for.  One 
of  the  richest.  He  said  as  much." 

"That's  something,"  said  Pen. 

"I  knew  it  was  dangerous  work,  too.  Because  I 
heard  the  price.  It  scared  me.  And  I'm  not  easy 
scared.  But  I  couldn't  let  on.  .  .  .  We  were  going 
to  marry  on  it  and  go  out  to  California  and  live  like 
other  people.  Raise  things  ..." 

The  tears  began  to  flow  again,  but  Blanche  shook 
her  head  savagely.  "I'm  not  going  to  cry  again !  I'm 
not  going  to  cry  any  more  till  I  see  this  through  1" 

"Can  you  think  of  anything  else?"  begged  Pen. 

"Wait  a  minute.  ...  It  was  part  of  Spike's  job  to 
dress  up  every  evening,  big  white  shirt  front  and  all, 
he  was  crazy  about  it,  he  could  get  away  with  it  too 
.  .  .  and  have  dinner  at  some  swell  joint  ..." 

"Could  it  have  been  the  Hotel  Warrington?" 

"That  as  well  as  another.  .  .  .  Wait  a  minute.  .  .  . 
He  brought  me  a  menu  card  to  show  me.  The  top  was 
torn  off  with  the  name  of  the  hotel.  But  I  have  the 
rest  of  it  home.  Easy  enough  to  find  out  if  that's  one 
of  the  Warrington  cards." 

"Yes,  yes !"  said  Pen.    "Anything  else  ?    Oh,  think  I" 

"Wait  a  minute  I  ...  There  was  something  else. 
.  .  .  Only  a  little  thing  .  .  .  More  than  once  Spike 


The  Trip  to  Town  171 

mentioned  that  his  boss  had  elegant  whiskey.  Said  it 
stood  in  a  cut  glass  bottle  on  a  table,  and  every  time 
he  went  there  his  boss  would  say:  'Help  yourself.' 
That  seemed  to  strike  Spike.  So  friendly  from  a  man 
like  that  ..." 

"Riever  is  an  expert  on  poisons,"  said  Pen  aghast. 

Blanche's  little  face  was  like  a  mask  of  pain,  the 
lips  drawn  taut  over  the  exposed  teeth.  "I  get  you  I" 
she  murmured  hoarsely.  "The  last  time  Spike  helped 
himself  ..." 

The  two  girls  stared  at  each  other. 

Something  seemed  to  click  inside  Blanche,  and  in- 
stantly she  was  her  ordinary  wary,  hard,  self-possessed 
little  self  again.  She  moved  towards  the  telephone. 

"I'll  send  for  the  Babe,"  she  said.  "You  can  count 
on  him  the  same  as  me.  He  looked  up  to  Spike.  He's 
got  a  good  head  on  him  too,  for  a  kid.  We'll  go  over 
everything  together,  and  then  the  kid  and  I'll  fluff 
back.  In  N'Yawk  there's  a  dozen  young  fellows'll 
help.  All  pals  of  Spike's.  I'll  organize  them." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  RETURN 

IT  was  five  o'clock  and  the  stores  were  closing  as 
Pen  sought  for  the  big  car.  She  picked  it  out  from 
afar,  parked  in  the  double  rank  that  lined  the  Lexing- 
ton street  hill.  For  five  hours  it  had  completely  passed 
out  of  her  mind,  and  she  was  terrified  now  of  facing 
the  justly  indignant  chauffeur.  To  be  sure  she  had  told 
him  she  didn't  know  how  long  she  would  be,  but  five 
hours ! 

But  it  proved  to  be  nothing  in  his  life.  That  was 
how  he  spent  the  greater  part  of  his  days,  waiting.  It 
was  easier  to  wait  than  to  drive.  He  opened  the  door 
for  her  with  a  perfectly  good-humored  face,  and  Pen 
much  relieved,  asked  him  to  drive  to  the  Bellevue. 

She  expected  another  ordeal  here.  What  sort  of 
report  would  Riever's  agent  have  made  to  his  master? 
Riever  was  on  the  lookout  for  her.  Without  appear- 
ing to,  Pen  studied  his  face.  Little  was  to  be  read 
there,  though.  The  malicious  smile  told  her  nothing, 
for  she  had  learned  that  it  was  merely  a  trick  of  his 
ugly  features.  Often  when  his  smile  was  most  devil- 
ish he  was  really  trying  to  ingratiate  himself. 

When  he  got  in,  seeing  Pen's  meager  bundles,  he 
said:  "Is  that  all  you  got  all  day?" 

Pen  suspected  a  thrust,  though  it  was  a  natural 

172 


The  Return  173 

enough  remark.  'I  ordered  most  of  the  things  sent  by 
mail,"  she  said.  "It  is  quicker." 

Before  they  had  gone  far  Pen  discovered  that  his 
humor  had  changed  since  morning.  In  a  clumsy  sort 
of  way  he  was  trying  to  express  contrition  for  his  ill- 
temper.  He  was  not  the  sort  of  man  who  could  bring 
out  a  frank  apology.  Pen  wondered.  The  detective 
could  not  have  given  a  disturbing  report  of  her. 
Perhaps  in  order  to  conceal  the  fact  that  she  had  given 
him  the  slip,  he  had  made  up  a  harmless  account  of 
her  day. 

At  any  rate  Riever  was  softened.  He  was  less  glib. 
He  looked  at  Pen  in  a  new  way.  He  asked  her  little 
questions  about  her  day,  apparently  not  with  any  idea 
of  entrapping  her,  but  because  he  wanted  to  share  in 
her  concerns.  Pen  was  much  confused  by  this  new 
aspect  of  his.  It  raised  unanswerable  questions.  Was 
it  possible  that  the  horrible  creature  was  really 
touched?  How  could  he  have  a  heart?  Suppose  in- 
stead of  fighting  her  he  came  crawling  to  her  feet? 
How  would  she  meet  that  situation?  It  was  horrible! 
horrible !  Yet  she  was  thrilled  with  a  sense  of  power 
too.  She  could  not  have  any  compunctions  against 
making  Riever  suffer.  If  only  she  were  able  to  handle 
him!  She  foresaw  breathless  danger. 

Meanwhile  there  they  were  cooped  up  together  in 
the  luxurious  little  cab.  Had  it  been  little  Blanche 
Paglar  sitting  there  beside  Riever,  her  flesh  would  have 
been  quivering  with  hatred.  Pen  was  not  of  so  simple 
a  constitution.  Her  flesh  took  no  alarm  from  his 
proximity.  She  could  look  at  him  coolly  and  specu- 
latively.  Her  strongest  feeling  was  one  of  contempt, 


174  Ramshackle  House 

seeing  him  begin  to  turn  a  little  abject.  He  had  ter- 
rible power,  she  never  forgot  that,  but  it  was  not  in. 
himself.  There  were  moments  when  she  found  herself 
detached  and  a  little  sorry  for  him. 

But  while  she  was  considering  him  thus  dispassion- 
ately (they  had  got  out  in  the  country  by  this  time) 
he  pulled  a  little  case  out  of  his  side  pocket  and  snap- 
ping it  open  revealed  a  slender  bracelet  of  platinum 
and  diamonds  exquisitely  wrought. 

"Will  you  accept  it?"  he  murmured. 

Pen  started  as  if  she  had  been  stung,  and  a  surpris- 
ing feeling  of  rage  welled  up  in  her.  She  could  scarcely 
speak  for  it. 

"I  couldn't  possibly!  I  couldn't  possibly!"  she  mur- 
mured. 

"It  wasn't  very  expensive,"  he  murmured  deprecat- 
ingly.  "I  purposely  picked  out  something  inexpensive." 

Inexpensive!  Pen  stared  at  him.  The  thing  had 
obviously  cost  thousands.  But  she  saw  that  he  was 
sincere  in  it. 

"It  attracted  me,"  he  went  on.  "It's  so  hard  to  find 
anything  that  looks  as  if  any  thought  or  care  had  gone 
into  it.  That's  why  I  got  it." 

"You  had  no  right  to  suppose  that  I  would  accept 
it,"  said  Pen  sorely. 

"I  didn't  suppose  it.    I  just  took  a  chance." 

Pen  was  reminded  that  she  must  keep  on  terms  with 
him.  "I'm  sorry,"  she  said  more  mildly.  "I  couldn't 
possibly." 

"Is  it  because  you  detest  me  so?"  he  asked  with 
ugly,  curling  lip. 

Pen  was  startled.     Her  anger  had  betrayed  her. 


The  Return  175 

She  put  her  wits  to  work  to  repair  the  damage.  "Not 
at  all  I"  she  said  coolly.  "It's  because  you're  so  rich. 
It  sickens  me  the  way  people  fawn  on  you,  all  expect- 
ing something.  That's  why  I  can't  take  it." 

"You  could  take  it  ...  without  being  like  other 
people,"  he  said. 

A  struggle  was  going  on  inside  Pen.  Not  that  she 
wanted  the  glittering  bracelet.  It  was  horrible  to 
her.  But  her  cooler  self  was  saying:  "You  ought  to 
take  it  to  put  his  mind  at  ease.  You  can  return  it 
later.  It  is  merely  silly  to  be  high-minded  in  dealing 
with  a  man  like  this!"  But  at  the  suggestion  of  taking 
it  her  fingers  automatically  closed  until  the  nails  were 
digging  into  her  palms.  It  was  useless  to  think  of  it. 
She  knew  that  her  fingers  would  break  sooner  than 
open  to  receive  the  little  box. 

"I'm  sorry,"  she  said.     "Please  put  it  away." 

He  snapped  the  box  shut  and  dropped  it  in  his  pocket 
again.  For  a  good  while  he  looked  out  of  the  window 
without  saying  anything.  Pen  could  not  read  his 
thoughts.  She  said  to  herself:  "Oh  well,  it's  got  to 
be  understood  that  he  can't  give  me  things!" 

They  dined  in  Annapolis.  Evidently  it  had  been 
ordered  ahead  by  telephone.  They  were  received  by 
an  expectant  waiter,  there  were  roses  on  the  table, 
and  the  best  that  the  little  town  afforded  was  ready  and 
hot.  Pen  being  a  woman,  could  not  but  be  pleased  by 
such  attentions,  though  a  mocking  little  voice  inside 
her  whispered:  "This  is  how  silly  women  are  snared!" 
She  enjoyed  the  food  thoroughly,  and  was  charming  to 
Riever,  all  the  while  a  little  dialogue  went  on  within. 
One  voice  was  saying  accusingly:  "Sitting  here  smil- 


176  Ramshackle  House 

ing  and  encouraging  your  lover's  deadly  enemy!"  the 
other  replying:  "How  else  can  I  save  my  lover?" 

It  was  eight  o'clock  and  beginning  to  grow  dark 
when  they  came  out  of  the  hotel.  Pen  shivered  with 
repulsion  at  the  thought  of  being  cooped  up  with 
Riever  for  the  sixty-mile  drive  through  the  night.  She 
said  offhand: 

"Do  you  ever  drive?" 

"Oh  yes,"  he  said  unsuspectingly. 

"Let's  put  the  chauffeur  inside  and  ride  out  in  the 
air.  The  moon  will  be  up  directly." 

Riever  scowled,  and  a  hateful  answer  leaped  to  his 
lips.  But  he  bit  it  back.  "All  right,"  he  mumbled. 

And  so  they  rode. 

He  proved  to  be  a  skillful  chauffeur.  There  was 
something  quite  impressive  in  the  nonchalant  way  he 
spun  the  wheel  with  one  hand  on  a  curve.  He  had  a 
bland  disregard  for  speed  laws  having  learned  that 
few  constables  had  the  temerity  to  stop  so  princely 
an  equipage.  They  went  through  Camp  Parole  at 
forty  miles  an  hour,  but  fortunately  without  hitting 
any  of  the  dark-skinned  inhabitants  of  that  humble 
suburb.  At  the  green  light  which  marks  the  W.  B.  & 
A.  station  they  turned  sharply  and  streaked  away  to 
the  South  to  the  throaty  growl  of  an  open  exhaust. 

Their  conversation  was  fitful  as  needs  be  on  the 
front  seat  of  a  speeding  car.  But  they  were  entirely 
friendly.  The  episode  of  the  bracelet  had  been  for- 
gotten. Both  pairs  of  eyes  were  hypnotized  by  the 
strong  path  of  light  on  the  yellow  road  before  them. 
The  bordering  leafage  was  shown  up  in  a  queer  chem- 
ical green  like  stage  scenery.  The  moon  came  up,  but 


The  Return  177 

what's  moonlight  to  automobilists  ?  The  reticent  moon 
disdains  to  compete  with  headlights. 

When  they  were  within  a  few  miles  of  Absolom's 
Island,  Riever  glancing  at  the  clock  under  the  cowl, 
said: 

"We've  come  too  fast.  I  didn't  order  the  boat 
until  9.45." 

He  took  his  foot  off  the  accelerator  and  the  big  car 
loafed  along.  Relieved  of  the  strain,  their  eyes  were 
free  to  wander  around.  All  Riever's  glances  were  for 
Pen's  profile.  He  said  abruptly: 

"You're  a  funny  one !  One  would  think  you  blamed 
me  for  having  a  lot  of  money." 

"Not  blame  you,"  said  Pen.  "Though  I  think  it's 
unjust  somehow.  But  you  didn't  make  conditions." 

"Why  is  it  unjust?" 

"Oh,  don't  ask  me  to  argue  it  with  you.  I've  never 
thought  such  things  out.  It's  just  a  feeling  I  have." 

"If  somebody  offered  you  a  fortune  would  you  turn* 
it  down?" 

"Depends  upon  the  condition  attached,"  said  Pen 
calmly. 

"If  there  were  no  conditions." 

"No,  I  wouldn't  turn  it  down." 

"Good!"  he  said.  "All  they  say  against  money  may 
be  true,  but  just  the  same  when  people  make  out  to 
despise  it  they're  lying." 

"No  doubt,"  said  Pen. 

"I  like  to  talk  to  you,"  he  said.     "You're  real." 

"Thanks,"  said  Pen  dryly. 

"What  do  you  think  about  me,  really?"  he  blurted 
out. 


178  Ramshackle  House 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Pen. 

"Well,  it's  true  nobody  really  knows  anybody  else," 

he  said "I  wish  I  could  get  myself  over  to 

you.  Since  I've  known  you  I've  realized  more  than 
ever  what  a  lot  there  is  missing  in  my  life.  Nobody 
knows  me.  .  .  .  There's  a  sort  of  wall  cuts  me  off  from 
everybody." 

It  was  very  confusing  to  Pen's  ideas  to  discover  that 
a  man  could  be  a  black  villain  and  sentimental  too. 
"Oh,  I  wish  he  wouldn't!"  she  thought  uncomfortably. 
Aloud  she  said  rather  sharply: 

"Well,  it's  your  own  fault,  isn't  it?" 

He  chuckled.  "I  love  the  way  you  come  back  at 
me,"  he  said.  "...  I  suppose  it  is  my  own  fault.  I 
ought  to  climb  over  the  wall.  But  it's  difficult.  They 
put  me  behind  it  young." 

After  awhile  he  said:  "It's  a  great  thought,  isn't  it, 
to  think  of  having  somebody  you  could  be  absolutely 
honest  with?" 

"Of  course,"  said  Pen.  She  was  reminded  of 
Blanche  and  Spike. 

As  Riever  talked  on  she  began  to  see  how  he  recon- 
ciled villainy  and  sentiment  in  his  mind. 

"Of  course  it  would  have  to  be  a  person  with  a 
strong  mind.  For  when  I  say  honesty  I  don't  mean  all 
this  sickening  cant  about  goodness  and  unselfishness 
and  meekness  that  the  church  hands  out.  Nobody  takes 
that  seriously  any  more.  Man  is  by  nature  a  rapacious 
animal.  Out  for  what  he  can  get.  Well,  his  highest 
function  must  be  to  realize  his  nature.  Therefore  I 
say  that  the  highest  type  of  man  is  the  man  who  gets 
what  he  wants  regardless." 


The  Return  179 

Pen  thought  wonderingly:  "He  actually  looks  upon 
himself  as  a  romantic  figure!" 

As  she  made  no  answer  he  asked  somewhat  un- 
easily: "That's  right,  isn't  it?" 

"Not  for  me,"  said  Pen.  "Man  may  be  a  rapacious 
animal,  but  he  is  also  capable  of  controlling  his 
rapacity.  And  it  seems  to  me  it's  only  by  controlling 
it  that  he  can  be  even  decently  happy.  I've  read  some- 
where that  beasts  of  prey  always  come  to  a  violent 
end." 

Riever  smiled  in  a  superior  sort  of  way.  "You're 
stronger  than  most  women,"  he  said  with  a  sneer. 
"But  you  can't  let  go  of  your  religious  tags.  I  suppose 
it's  too  much  to  expect." 

Pen  only  smiled. 

"Now  I  suppose  I've  offended  you,"  he  said 
presently. 

"Not  in  the  least!"  said  Pen. 

"No,  you  don't  give  a  damn  one  way  or  the  other," 
he  said  sorely. 

Pen  laughed.    "Nothing  I  say  pleases  you  I" 

"You  please  me,"  he  muttered,  "but  ..."  The 
end  of  his  sentence  trailed  off  unintelligibly. 

What  a  queer  mixture  he  was,  Pen  mused.  Ar- 
rogance and  self-distrust.  Attempting  to  strut  before 
her  and  collapsing  at  the  lift  of  an  eyebrow.  She 
failed  to  take  into  account  the  terrible  way  in  which 
her  clear  nature  struck  into  the  dark  recesses  of  the 
ugly  little  man's  being.  He  could  assert  himself 
strongly  enough  against  anybody  but  her.  And  the 
more  he  was  obliged  to  cringe  to  her,  the  more  he 
desired  her. 


180  Ramshackle  House 

As  they  bowled  over  the  causeway  to  the  Island 
Riever  said:  "I  haven't  given  up  hope  of  you,  though. 
You  have  a  natural  hatred  of  sham.  I'll  teach  you  to 
face  the  truth  yetl" 

Pen  smiled  on. 

At  the  steamboat  wharf  at  the  other  end  of  the 
Island  the  speed  boat  was  waiting,  her  starboard  light 
a  startling  gleam  of  emerald  in  a  dusky  gray  world,  her 
white-clad  crew  sitting  quietly  in  the  moonlight.  Peri 
and  her  packages  were  handed  aboard  and  they  flew 
for  Broome's  Point. 

Out  on  the  water  the  moon  indifferently  resumed  her 
sway.  The  whole  earth  was  hers  to  tread  on.  The 
front  of  the  island  with  its  odd  row  of  semi-detached, 
whitewashed  shacks  looked  like  something  as  foreign 
as  Algiers.  In  the  bow  wave  that  rolled  away  from 
the  speed  boat  there  was  a  dull  phosphorescent  glow 
like  saturated  moonlight,  and  looking  over  through 
the  shadow  of  the  boat  one  could  see  fishes  dart  away 
like  little  balls  of  pale  moonlight.  Pen's  face  was  as 
beautiful  and  passionless  as  the  moon's. 

In  the  sheltered  nook  astern  the  face  of  Riever  the 
would-be  strong  man,  the  Devil's  advocate,  broke  up 
like  any  calfish  boy's.  He  fumbled  clumsily  for  her 
hand. 

"Don't  1"  whispered  Pen  sharply.    "They'll  see !" 

"What  of  it?"  he  mumbled. 

"I  won't  have  it!"  said  Pen. 

His  eyebrows  went  up  in  a  stare  of  indignant  amaze- 
ment. Nobody  had  ever  spoken  to  him  like  that.  But 
as  it  had  absolutely  no  effect,  they  gradually  came 
down  again  into  the  likeness  of  a  sulky  schoolboy's. 


The  Return  181 

"Aw,  Pen!" 

She  struggled  hard  with  her  repulsion.  "Well  .  .  . 
well  ...  I  hate  to  be  touched!" 

"One  would  think  there  was  something  the  matter 
with  me!"  he  muttered. 

"This  is  simply  weak  of  you,"  Pen  said  cunningly. 

He  looked  away  grinding  his  teeth. 

Fortunately,  as  it  was  but  three  minutes  to  the  Point, 
the  scene  could  not  be  prolonged. 

As  they  drew  close  to  the  old  wharf  they  made 
out  that  there  were  a  number  of  men  upon  it  with 
lanterns  and  flash  lights. 

"What's  going  on  there?"  Riever  asked  his  steers- 
man. 

"Couldn't  say,  sir.  Everything  was  quiet  when  we 
started  over." 

They  heard  a  hail  from  the  wharf:  "On  board 
the  Alexandra!" 

And  the  answer:     "Hello!" 

"Give  us  some  light  here,  please !" 

The  yacht's  big  search-light  was  thrown  dazzlingly 
on  the  end  of  the  wharf  showing  up  all  the  figures  in 
sharp  silhouette. 

The  speed-boat  approached  unnoticed  from  the 
other  side.  The  instant  she  drew  alongside  Riever 
sprang  out  and  ran  across.  Pen  guessed  what  was 
happening,  and  her  heart  seemed  to  stop  and  sink  like 
a  stone.  But  she  followed  Riever  with  a  composed 
face. 

All  the  men  were  looking  over  the  other  side,  their 
heads  down  to  keep  the  blinding  glare  out  of  their 
eyes.  One  had  a  rope  with  a  grappling  iron  on  the 


182  Ramshackle  House 

end  of  it.  He  was  fishing  for  something  while  they 
all  watched.  The  burly  figure  of  Delehanty  was  con- 
spicuous. 

"What's  wrong  here?"  demanded  Riever. 

"Don't  know  as  there's  anything  wrong,  sir.  One 
of  the  men  swimming  here,  said  he  dived  into  some- 
thing suspicious.  We're  trying  to  locate  it." 

As  he  spoke  the  man  with  the  rope  said:  "I've  got 
itl"  And  started  to  haul  in. 

The  green  water  surged  up  a  little  and  the  curved 
stem  of  the  canoe  rose  out  of  it.  The  valise  appeared, 
tied  to  a  thwart. 

Delehanty's  harsh  voice  cried:  "Counsell's  canoe, 
by  God!  He  never  went  away  from  here!" 

Of  one  accord  all  the  men  turned  and  looked  at 
Pen.  She  bore  it  unflinchingly.  She  disdained  to 
turn  away.  Riever's  face  working  uncontrollably  with 
rage,  looked  truly  devilish.  Conscious  that  he  was 
betraying  himself,  he  turned  his  back  sharply  to  the 
light. 

When  she  had  given  them  their  fill  of  looking, 
Pen  turned  and  commenced  to  walk  slowly  away. 

"One  moment,  Miss!"  said  Delehanty. 

Pen  half  turned.  "I'm  going  home,"  she  said  in  a 
composed  voice.  "If  I'm  wanted  you'll  find  me  there." 

She  walked  on,  taking  care  not  to  hurry  herself. 
But  her  heart  was  beating  with  a  bird's  wings. 

"No,  you  don't!"  cried  Delehanty,  and  started  after 
her. 

Riever  with  an  odd,  tense  spring,  caught  his  arm. 
There  was  a  whispered  colloquy,  and  as  a  result  De- 
lehanty stayed,  and  Riever  went  after  Pen.  The  little 


The  Return  183 

man,  tense  with  passion,  had  for  the  first  time  a  sort  of 
dignity.  He  was  rather  a  terrible  figure.  Pen,  hear- 
ing his  cat-like  steps  behind  her,  was  sorely  afraid. 
He  overtook  her  alongside  the  automobile  that  was 
waiting  in  the  road. 

"Will  you  get  in?"  he  asked  in  a  queer,  thick  voice. 

Pen  reflected  that  she  would  be  safer  in  the  car 
with  the  chauffeur  than  walking  up  the  hill  alone. 
She  got  in  without  speaking. 

During  the  short  ride  up  to  the  house  they  exchanged 
no  word.  Pen  was  pressed  into  her  corner,  Riever 
into  his.  He  sat  as  still  as  an  animal,  his  back  slightly 
hunched,  his  hands  on  his  thighs.  Ugly-looking  hands 
he  had  that  the  moonlight  could  not  dignify:  too  small: 
for  a  man,  furtive-looking,  hands  acquainted  with  evil. 
Pen  shuddered  at  them.  When  they  passed  between 
the  broken  gates  and  rounded  the  shrubbery,  Pen  saw 
with  dismay  that  all  the  windows  of  the  big  house  were 
dark.  Her  father  had  gone  to  bed. 

When  the  car  stopped  she  jumped  out,  avoiding 
Riever's  offered  assistance.  Riever  said  to  the 
chauffeur: 

"You  needn't  wait.     I'll  walk  back." 

Pen  was  horribly  afraid.  Her  instinct  was  to  dart 
through  the  door,  slam  it  in  his  face,  and  turn  the 
key.  But  flight  was  too  abject.  If  she  yielded  him 
ascendancy  like  that,  she  could  never  get  it  back  again. 
She  said  to  herself  while  her  teeth  chattered:  "I'm 
not  afraid  of  him!  I'm  not  afraid  of  himl  If  I 
stand  my  ground  I  have  nothing  to  fear!" 

The  car  went  back.  Riever  stepped  up  on  the  porch 
by  the  two  boxes  his  head  sunk.  Pen  stood  there. 


184  Ramshackle  House 

"You  tricked  me !"  he  said  with  a  violent  gesture, 
but  taking  care  not  to  raise  his  voice.  "You  said  he'd 
gone  from  here !  He's  been  here  ever  since !  You're 
hiding  him  now!  What  did  you  go  to  town  for  to- 
day? What  was  in  those  packages  you  made  me 
bring  home  in  my  car,  a  disguise  for  him?" 

Pen  was  not  dismayed  by  this.  On  the  contrary 
as  soon  as  he  began  to  speak  the  man  lost  his  curious, 
animal,  impressiveness.  Seeing  him  beside  himself, 
Pen  began  to  feel  strong  again. 

"I  left  the  packages  in  the  boat,"  she  said  scornfully. 
"No  doubt  by  this  time  Delehanty  has  examined  them." 

"What  is  this  man  to  you?"  demanded  Riever. 

"I've  already  told  you.  No  more  than  any  poor 
hunted  creature." 

"If  you  lied  once  you  can  lie  again!" 

Pen  shrugged. 

"Swear  that  he's  not  your  lover!"  he  cried. 

"To  you?"  cried  Pen  indignantly. 

"Then  he  is  your  lover!  You're  keeping  him  close, 
I  daresay.  You  don't  shiver  when  he  touches  you!" 

A  great  anger  came  to  Pen's  assistance.  "You 
fool!"  she  cried.  "Your  disgusting  money  has  turned 
your  head  I  Who  do  you  think  you  are  to  speak  this 
way  to  me?  I  owe  you  nothing.  Neither  oaths  nor 
explanations.  Nothing!" 

Riever  could  not  stand  up  under  it.  His  chin  sunk, 
his  body  twisted.  As  a  matter  of  fact  he  simply  could 
not  face  the  thought  that  the  man  he  hated  so  had 
won  the  woman  he  desired.  He  snatched  at  any  hope. 

"Well  ...  if  you're  not  hiding  him,  where  is  he?" 
he  mumbled. 


The  Return  185 

"I  don't  know.    Far  away,  I  hope.'1 

"How  could  he  have  got  away?" 

"He  walked  up  the  Neck  road  while  you  were  search- 
ing the  shores." 

"Oh  God,  if  I  could  believe  you !"  groaned  Riever. 

"Well,  I  can't  help  you,"  said  Pen.  She  saw  that 
with  every  word  she  was  regaining  the  upper  hand, 
and  her  heart  was  strong. 

A  cajoling  note  crept  into  Riever's  voice.  "Well, 
you  couldn't  do  him  any  further  good  by  lying.  If 
he's  anywhere  near  we're  bound  to  get  him  in  the 
morning.  Within  an  hour  Delehanty  'II  send  a  party 
by  boat  up  to  the  head  of  Back  Creek.  They'll  form 
a  line  across  the  Neck.  At  dawn  we  stretch  another  line 
across  this  end  and  close  up.  He  can't  escape  between 
them." 

Pen's  heart  contracted  painfully,  but  she  gave  no 
outward  sign.  "What  are  you  telling  me  this  for?" 
she  asked. 

"You  can't  do  him  any  further  good.  Leave  him  to 
his  fate.  Tell  me  where  he  is  so  I'll  know  you're  on 
the  square  with  me." 

"It's  nothing  to  me  whether  you  think  I'm  on  the 
square  or  not." 

Riever  raised  his  clenched  hands  in  a  gesture  of  im- 
potent rage.  "I've  got  to  know!  ..." 

"I  wouldn't  tell  you  if  I  knew,"  said  Pen.  "I 
wouldn't  betray  any  man.  Not  you  if  you  were  in  his 
place." 

WTith  a  painful  struggle  for  self-command  he  took 
still  another  tone.  "Well,  that's  all  right.  I'll  say  no 
more  about  him.  .  .  .  But  give  me  a  pledge  I" 


186  Ramshackle  House 

"Why  should  I?"  she  said  coldly. 

Again  the  shaking  gesture.     "I  can't  stand  this!" 

"I'm  afraid  you'll  have  to!" 

His  voice  became  more  abject.  "Wait  a  minute  I 
You  don't  understand.  All  I  want  is  a  word.  You 
see  how  I  am  suffering.  A  word  from  you  will  end 
it!" 

Pen  was  too  startled  to  be  angry  any  more.  A  ter- 
ribly dangerous  situation  faced  her,  and  she  needed 
all  her  wits  with  which  to  meet  it. 

He  took  heart  from  her  silence,  her  apparent  un- 
certainty. "I'm  asking  you  to  marry  me,"  he  said 
with  a  touch  of  his  old  arrogance.  "Do  you  get  it? 
Mrs.  Ernest  Riever.  Think  what  it  means  .... 
What  do  you  say?" 

"I  won't  answer  you  now,"  she  murmured. 

"You've  got  to  answer  me!"  he  said  violently. 
"I've  got  to  know  how  you  stand  towards  me  1" 

She  was  silent. 

"Look  at  it  as  a  young  fellow  would  look  at  a 
chance  to  advance  himself,"  he  rushed  on.  It  was  one 
kind  of  love-making.  "Look  what  I  have  to  offer  you. 
A  place  in  the  sun!  A  place  every  living  woman 
would  envy  you!  Isn't  that  sweet  to  you?  And  by 
God!  you'd  grace  it  too,  with  your  beauty  and  your 
high  ways.  You  weren't  shaped  to  wear  print  dresses, 
Pen.  Think,  think  what  you'd  be.  A  sort  of  queen. 
A  queen  without  any  responsibilities.  Carried  about 
like  a  queen  wherever  you  wanted  to  go,  with  an 
army  to  wait  on  you.  Your  slightest  wish  granted!" 

"I  don't  want  to  be  a  queen,"  murmured  Pen  a  little 
dizzied  by  this  rush  of  words. 


The  Return  187 

"Well  then,  anything  you  wanted.  .  .  .  Do  you 
want  to  do  good?  You  can  have  whatever  sums  you 
want  to  lay  out  in  good  works.  Absolutely  without 
limit.  You  can  make  a  name  as  a  philanthropist  such 
as  nobody  ever  had  before.  You  couldn't  refuse  such 
a  chance — you  couldn't!  .  .  .  What  do  you  say?" 

"I  will  not  answer  you  now,"  repeated  Pen.  There 
was  nothing  else  she  could  say. 

He  stared  at  her  as  if  unable  to  credit  that  she 
should  not  jump  at  such  a  chance.  "You've  got  to  give 
me  an  answer!"  he  said  showing  his  teeth.  "I'm  go- 
ing to  find  out  how  you  stand  towards  this  murderer." 

"Be  careful!"  cried  Pen. 

That  cry  of  hers  answered  him  really,  but  he  would 
not  face  it.  He  became  abject  again.  "Well,  I'll  say 
no  more  about  him.  .  .  .  Suppose  you  have  a  sort  of 
fancy  for  him.  All  right.  I'll  give  you  a  chance  to 
save  him.  .  .  .  Marry  me  at  once.  Come  away  on 
the  Alexandra  with  me,  and  I'll  call  off  the  chase. 
I'll  withdraw  the  reward.  With  me  out  of  it  the  case 
against  Counsell  would  collapse  like  a  pricked  balloon. 
I  couldn't  offer  fairer  than  that,  could  I?  Come  back 
with  me  now.  The  yacht  has  steam  up.  Will  you? 
Will  you?" 

Pen  was  shaken.  "Would  you  really  take  me  on  such 
terms?"  she  murmured. 

"Oh  God !  I'd  take  you  on  any  terms !"  he  groaned. 

The  thought  flew  into  Pen's  brain:  "You  couldn't 
trust  him!"  She  energetically  shook  her  head.  "I 
won't  be  rushed  into  anything." 

"Then  I  won't  ask  for  a  positive  answer  to-night," 


1 88  Ramshackle  House 

he  stuttered.  "But  just  a  sign.  Just  a  sign  to  show 
me  I'm  not  hateful  to  you!  ....  Kiss  me,  Pen  I" 

She  hesitated. 

"Kiss  me,  Pen  .  .  .  and  I'll  hold  Delehanty 
back  ..." 

She  yielded.  That  is  to  say  she  yielded  with  her 
mind.  But  the  flesh  rebelled.  He  gathered  her  in  his 
arms  taut  as  a  bow-string.  As  his  face  approached 
hers  she  snapped.  With  a  wild,  blind  reaction  she 
tore  herself  free.  No  man  could  have  held  her.  The 
open  door  was  behind  her.  She  darted  through  and 
slammed  it  shut.  He  put  his  shoulder  against  it,  but 
she  was  at  least  as  strong  as  he.  She  got  the  key 
turned. 

He  beat  on  the  door  with  the  sides  of  his  fists,  curs- 
ing horribly,  but  as  always,  oddly  careful  not  to  make 
too  much  noise. 

Pen,  nauseated  with  disgust,  thought:  "To  be 
married  to  such  a  maniac!" 

Like  a  maniac  he  fell  suddenly  silent.  She  pictured 
him  listening.  Presently  his  voice  came  softly  as  if 
he  had  his  lips  to  the  crack  of  the  door,  wheedling, 
crafty,  threatening;  infinitely  more  disgusting  than  his 
rage. 

"Are  you  there?  .  .  .  Listen,  I'll  give  you  another 
chance.  Open  the  door!" 

A  silence. 

"If  you  don't  he  goes  to  the  chair!  ...  By  God  I 
I'll  spend  every  cent  I  possess  to  send  him  to  the 
chair.  Do  you  get  that?  Better  open  the  door!" 

A  silence. 

"It'll  be  too  late  when  he's  strapped  in  the  chair  with 


The  Return  189 

the  black  cap  on  and  the  electrode  at  the  back  of  his 
handsome  white  neck.  .  .  You'll  remember  it  was 
really  you  put  him  there.  .  .  Twelve  hundred  volts 
they  give  them.  You  can  smell  them  burning  .  .  . 
Well,  how  about  it?" 

"Go  away!"  said  Pen. 

"Oh,  all  right!    All  right!"  he  cried  violently. 

She  heard  him  leap  down  by  the  boxes.  Looking 
through  the  narrow  pane  beside  the  door,  she  saw  him 
run  along  the  drive  brandishing  his  clenched  fists  over 
his  head. 

Pen  went  up-stairs.  A  sudden  weakness  overcame 
her,  and  she  could  scarcely  drag  one  foot  after  the 
other.  As  she  reached  the  upper  landing  a  door  opened 
and  her  father  came  out,  carrying  a  candle.  She  had 
to  assume  some  semblance  of  self-possession. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  asked. 

"Nothing,  Dad." 

"I  thought  I  heard  a  little  commotion  down-stairs. 
It  wakened  me." 

"Only  the  closing  of  the  front  door.  You  must 
have  been  dreaming." 

"Who  brought  you  home?" 

"Mr.  Riever."  ' 

A  note  of  pleased  excitement  crept  into  Pendleton's 
voice.  "You  have  been  with  him  all  day?" 

"Most  all  day." 

He  paddled  close  to  her,  the  candle  shaking  a  little 
in  his  agitation.  He  was  wearing  an  old-fashioned 
night-shirt  slit  at  the  sides,  and  revealing  an  unex- 
pectedly plump  calf.  "Oh,  Pen,  it's  all  right  between 


190  Ramshackle  House 

you  two,  isn't  it?"  he  said.     "It  means  so  much  to 


me!' 


Pen  was  too  weary  to  get  angry  all  over  again.  She 
merely  smiled  faintly  at  the  irony  of  life. 

He  had  put  off  his  grand  airs  with  his  clothes.  He 
was  as  simple  now  as  his  old-fashioned  shirt.  "Pen 
dear,  think  what  it  means  to  mel  A  frustrated  old 
man!  I'm  a  failure.  I  can't  do  anything  for  you. 
And  I  see  this  chance  for  you  to  establish  yourself! 
Don't  let  any  romantic  youthful  folly  stand  in  the 
way,  daughter.  There's  nothing  in  it.  I  know.  Safety 
is  everything!" 

"Dad,  you  must  leave  this  to  me,"  Pen  muttered 
painfully. 

"I  will!  I  will!"  he  said  brightly.  "I  have  every 
confidence  in  you.  If  you  think  of  the  matter  at  all 
there  can  be  but  the  one  answer!" 

"Go  to  bed,  dear,"  said  Pen,  kissing  him* 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  NIGHT  LONG 

ONE  of  Delehanty's  first  measures  was  to  have  the 
big  house  watched.  Even  before  Riever  could 
have  got  back  to  the  beach,  Pen  from  her  front  window 
saw  the  little  group  come  in  by  the  drive,  separate  and 
lose  themselves  in  the  darkness.  One  came  to  the 
house.  Pendleton  let  him  in.  By  Mr.  Delehanty's 
orders  he  was  to  keep  watch  inside  the  house  all  night. 
He  was  to  remain  in  the  hall  of  the  second  floor. 
Pendleton's  outraged  protests  were  in  vain.  The 
man  brought  a  chair  up  from  the  dining-room,  and 
planted  it  outside  Pen's  door.  It  was  Keesing.  Pen  al- 
ready had  him  down  in  her  black  books,  a  gaunt,  red- 
haired  young  man,  curiously  eager  to  do  spy  work. 

Pen  locked  her  door,  and  paced  up  and  down  her 
room,  raging.  Her  weariness  was  forgotten. 
Trapped!  trapped!  trapped!  she  felt  with  every  foot- 
fall. To  be  sure  the  flat  roof  of  the  porch  ran  around 
outside  her  windows.  It  would  be  no  great  matter  to 
slide  down  one  of  the  porch  posts  to  the  ground.  But 
they  were  certainly  watching  her  windows  from  the 
outside,  counting  on  being  able  to  humiliate  her  no 
doubt. 

Within  the  space  of  half  an  hour  she  nearly  went 
out  of  her  mind.  Then  there  was  a  diversion.  Once 
more  the  rat-tat-tat  of  the  big  knocker  reverberated 

191 


192  Ramshackle  House 

through  the  lofty  halls,  and  Pendleton  had  to  paddle 
down-stairs  again.  Pen  listening  with  all  her  ears 
made  out  the  rumble  of  Delehanty's  voice.  Some  one 
else  was  speaking  too. 

Finally  Delehanty  raised  his  voice:     "Keesing!" 

"Yes  sir?" 

The  detective  clattered  down  the  uncarpeted  stairs, 
and  Pen  opened  her  door  a  crack.  She  heard  her 
father  coming  up,  and  from  a  certain  lightness  in  his 
step  guessed  that  he  was  bringing  what  he  considered 
to  be  good  news. 

Seeing  her  at  her  door  he  broke  out:  "It's  all  right, 
my  dear.  It's  Mr.  Riever  and  Mr.  Delehanty. 
There's  been  a  misunderstanding  it  seems.  No  inten- 
tion of  annoying  us.  They  apologized  most  hand- 
somely. The  man  is  to  be  taken  away.  All  the  men 
are  to  be  taken  away." 

Pen  smiled  scornfully.  "Do  they  expect  me  to  be 
taken  in  so  easily?"  she  thought. 

Pendleton  went  on:  "Mr.  Riever  said  if  it  would 
not  be  presuming  too  much,  could  he  speak  to  you  for 
a  minute?  Wants  to  apologize  to  you  personally. 
Better  go  down,  dear.  God  knows,  this  is  no  time  for 
formality  I" 

It  was  on  Pen's  lips  to  refuse  scornfully,  but  curiosity 
was  strong  within  her.  If  she  expected  to  get  the 
better  of  these  men  she  must  know  what  they  were  up 
to.  Perhaps  they  intended  to  arrest  her.  But  in  that 
case  they  would  hardly  have  got  up  this  comedy  of 
sending  the  men  up  and  taking  them  away  again. 
Virtually  she  had  been  under  arrest  while  Keesing  sat 
at  her  door. 


The  Night  Long  193 

Declining  the  offer  of  her  father's  candle,  Pen  went 
down. 

Riever  alone  was  framed  in  the  opening  of  the  front 
door,  the  moonlight  behind  him.  When  Pen  got  close 
enough  she  saw  Delehanty  and  Keesing  waiting  in  the 
grass  below  the  porch.  Pen  stopped  a  little  more  than 
arm's  length  from  Riever.  She  couldn't  see  his  face 
well. 

"You  needn't  be  afraid,"  he  said  in  a  voice  smooth, 
yet  a  little  truculent,  too,  a  sort  of  hang-dog  voice. 
"I  just  wanted  to  tell  you  that  when  I  found  Delehanty 
had  had  the  house  surrounded,  and  put  a  man  inside 
I  was  sore.  I  made  him  call  them  off.  I  didn't  want 
you  to  think  I  had  a  hand  in  it." 

Pen  was  a  little  disconcerted,  this  was  such  a  violent 
change  from  half  an  hour  before.  It  was  highly 
characteristic  though  of  Riever  to  ignore  everything 
that  had  gone  before,  characteristic  of  the  spoiled  child 
of  any  age. 

"Much  obliged,"  she  said,  trying  to  keep  the  note  of 
irony  out  of  her  voice. 

If  he  heard  irony  he  did  not  betray  it.  "Well  .  .  . 
that's  all  I  wanted  to  say.  That  I  was  sorry  you  were 
annoyed  .  .  .  Will  you  shake  hands  on  it?" 

"Surely!"  said  Pen.  She  offered  her  hand  with  a 
mental  reservation:  "If  you're  deceiving  me  as  I 
suspect,  this  doesn't  count!" 

She  thought  he  would  never  have  done  fondling 
her  hand.  She  ground  her  teeth  and  endured  it. 

"Well  .    .    .  good-night,"  he  said  at  last. 

"Good-night,"  said  Pen. 

When  he  had  taken  two  steps  he  stopped.    "I  said 


194  Ramshackle  House 

all  his  men,"  he  said  with  a  sly  note  creeping  into  his 
voice.  "Watch  and  make  sure." 

Pen  waited  in  the  doorway.  Riever  stepping  off 
the  porch,  spoke  to  Delehanty.  Delehanty  put  a  hand 
to  his  lips  and  blew  a  shrill  whistle.  Out  of  various 
shrubby  corners  of  the  grounds  figures  emerged  and 
approached  their  chief.  Like  a  scene  in  a  melodrama 
Pen  thought  with  curling  lip.  There  were  six  of  them. 
That  was  the  number  she  had  seen  enter  the  grounds. 

"Good-night,"  said  Riever  in  a  purring  voice. 

"Good-night,  Miss,"  fawned  Delehanty. 

"Good-night,  Miss,"  said  Keesing,  taking  his  tone 
from  his  betters. 

"Good-night,"  said  Pen  clearly. 

They  all  moved  off  in  a  body  towards  the  gates. 

Pen  smiling  scornfully,  turned  back  up-stairs. 
"What  sort  of  an  imbecile  do  they  take  me  for?  .  .  . 
Presently  they'll  come  sneaking  back.  .  .  Expect  me 
to  lead  them  to  him,  do  they?"  Suddenly  the  quality  of 
her  smile  changed.  "Well  why  not  do  it?  .  .  .  It's 
the  best  idea  I've  had  yet  ..."  She  went  into  her 
room  in  a  study. 

The  big  house  was  laid  out  on  the  simplest  of  plans. 
As  you  entered  the  front  door  the  two  drawing-rooms 
were  on  the  left  of  the  central  hall,  and  an  immense 
dining-room  on  the  right,  with  a  pantry  behind  it  as 
big  as  the  living-room  in  many  a  cottage.  In  the  rear 
extension  were  the  kitchen  and  various  offices.  The 
second  floor  was  divided  into  four  great  chambers  of 
equal  size  and  a  smaller  room  over  the  entrance  where 
Pen  kept  her  sewing-machine.  Her  father  slept  in  the 
room  over  the  dining-room.  It  had  a  door  into  the 


The  Night  Long  195 

room  behind  it,  which  was  his  study,  work-shop  and 
general  receptacle.  Pen  had  the  other  front  room  and 
it  also  communicated  with  the  room  behind  it,  which 
was  called  the  guest  chamber.  The  door  between  the 
two  rooms  was  always  supposed  to  be  locked. 

The  second  floor  of  the  rear  extension  was  on  a 
lower  level.  That  is  to  say  you  started  down  the  big 
stairway  and  reached  the  rear  rooms  from  the  turn. 
The  extension  contained  the  famous  bathroom  long 
out  of  repair,  various  cupboards  and  store-rooms,  and 
the  two  servants'  rooms  which  looked  to  the  rear.  In 
the  main  block  of  the  house  there  was  a  third  story  with 
four  more  big  bedrooms,  and  above  that  again  was  the 
"cupalow." 

Pendleton  had  gone  back  to  bed.  Pen  got  two  lamps 
and  flitted  into  the  rear  extension.  Her  father 
accustomed  to  her  peregrinations  over  the  house 
at  all  hours,  paid  no  attention,  even  if  he 
heard.  The  two  servants'  rooms  were  not  used, 
but  each  contained  various  articles  of  furniture. 
Pen  lit  her  lamps  and  placed  them  far  enough  back 
from  the  windows  so  that  the  lamps  themselves  could 
not  have  been  seen  by  anybody  who  might  chance  to 
look  up  from  the  yard  below.  Anyone  who  was  not 
familiar  with  the  house  would  naturally  suppose  that 
the  two  lighted  windows  were  in  the  same  room. 

Pen  calculated.  "I  told  him  to  pack  up  his  things 
and  hide  them  before  starting.  That  will  take  him 
say  half  an  hour.  It  will  take  him  twenty  minutes  to 
cross  the  fields.  He  can't  get  here  in  much  less  than  an 
hour.  I'll  start  in  half  an  hour." 

Returning  to  her  own  room,  she  dropped  to  her 


196  Ramshackle  House 

knees  at  one  of  the  front  windows,  and  peered  over 
the  sill.  She  strained  her  eyes  to  watch  that  part  of 
the  grounds  that  was  within  range.  But  the  very 
mysteriousness  of  moonlight  balked  her.  The  moon 
was  in  the  South  throwing  long  shadows  directly 
athwart  the  lawn.  The  trees  and  shrubs  of  the  over- 
grown place  offered  scores  of  hiding-places.  More 
than  once  she  thought  she  saw  dark  spots  that  did 
not  belong  there,  and  shadows  seemed  to  move.  She 
could  not  be  sure.  For  that  matter  she  knew  that  men 
could  come  along  the  beach  below  and  scramble  up  the 
honeysuckle  vines.  In  this  way  they  could  surround  the 
house  without  crossing  the  open  space  in  front.  She 
was  morally  certain  the  detectives  had  returned,  but  she 
could  not  spot  them. 

At  the  end  of  half  an  hour  she  dressed  herself  in 
her  black  dress  and  put  on  stout  shoes.  With  a  wildly 
beating  heart  she  stole  down  stairs,  and  let  herself 
softly  out  on  the  porch,  leaving  the  door  open.  Here, 
for  the  benefit  of  anybody  who  might  be  watching  her, 
she  gave  an  imitation  of  one  terrified  and  undecided; 
walking  unevenly  up  and  down,  coming  to  the  edge 
and  peering  out,  running  back  in  the  house  in  a  sudden 
panic,  timorously  venturing  forth  again.  Finally  she 
took  to  the  shrubbery. 

She  ran  to  the  gates,  scuttling  like  a  rabbit  from 
clump  to  clump,  her  head  continually  over  her  shoulder. 
She  wished  to  be  followed,  but  she  must  not  of  course 
appear  to  wish  to  be  followed.  She  wished  to  find  out 
too,  if  she  were  followed,  but  she  must  at  all  costs  keep 
her  pursuers  from  guessing  that  she  was  on  to  them. 
It  was  very  complicated. 


The  Night  Long  197 

At  the  gates  she  hesitated,  turning  her  head  this 
way  and  that.  The  question  was  which  way  should  she 
lead  them.  Eventually  she  meant  to  take  them  to  the 
little  temple  above  the  pond,  but  in  the  meantime  she 
had  half  an  hour  to  kill.  From  one  of  the  ground  floor 
windows  of  the  cottage  a  beam  of  light  was  streaming 
out.  Crouching  over  she  ran  across  the  intervening 
grass  and  peered  over  the  sill.  Surely  if  anybody 
were  watching  her  this  would  seem  like  a  natural  act. 

Riever  and  Delehanty  were  within  the  room.  De- 
lehanty  had  fallen  asleep  on  a  couch.  Riever  was  pac- 
ing up  and  down.  There  was  no  strut  in  him  now, 
he  was  not  on  parade.  He  moved  with  his  more 
natural  cat-like  tread,  but  it  was  a  cat  with  a  load  on 
his  back.  When  he  turned  at  the  far  end  of  the  room 
and  Pen  saw  his  face,  the  features  were  composed 
enough,  but  in  his  eyes  showed  a  wild,  animal-like  tor- 
ment. But  her  soft  heart  was  hard  against  him. 
Whatever  he  might  be  suffering  it  was  only  a  tithe  of 
what  he  owed.  The  swiftest  of  glances  was  sufficient 
for  her.  She  dropped  to  the  ground  like  a  leaf,  and 
creeping  around  the  corner  of  the  house,  made  for  the 
road  in  front. 

Running  by  fits  and  starts  she  went  down  the  hill 
to  the  beach.  She  lingered  in  the  shadow  of  a  bush 
looking  out.  Nothing  human  stirred.  There  was  a 
breeze  from  the  Southeast  and  from  the  other  side 
of  the  point  came  a  murmur  of  waves  on  the  beach. 
But  within  the  scimitar  curve  of  white  sand  the  water 
was  like  a  mirror.  Three  hundred  yards  offshore  the 
Alexandra  floated,  huge  and  ghostly  in  the  moonlight, 
all  dark  except  for  her  riding-light.  Out  in  the  bay 


198  Ramshackle  House 

the  red  light  on  Poplar  point  flashed  intermittently. 
Out  of  the  vast,  gray  stillness  that  recurring  spark 
had  a  dreadful  significance — like  blood. 

Pen  retraced  her  steps  more  slowly  up  the  hill.  If 
anyone  had  followed  her  so  far,  he  would  have  to  let 
her  pass  him  now.  He  would  be  hidden  somewhere 
alongside  the  road.  The  thought  made  her  heart 
flutter.  Though  she  had  deliberately  provoked  it, 
there  was  a  terrible  excitement  in  being  hunted.  As  she 
walked  she  kept  her  head  fixed  straight  ahead,  but  her 
darting  eyes  searched  among  the  bushes  on  her  left. 
On  the  other  side  was  a  cut-bank  which  afforded  no 
cover. 

And  then  she  saw  one  of  them.  There  could  be  no 
mistaking  it.  In  the  darkest  shadow  under  the 
branches,  the  suggestion  of  a  crouching  human  figure 
still  as  death.  She  could  even  tell  that  he  was  holding 
his  head  down  to  keep  his  white  face  from  betraying 
him.  He  was  less  than  ten  feet  from  her.  It  was 
terribly  hard  to  keep  her  muscles  in  order  as  she  passed, 
and  just  after  she  passed.  But  satisfaction  was  mixed 
with  her  terror.  Her  ruse  had  not  failed. 

Leaving  the  gates  on  her  left  she  kept  on  around  the 
turn  of  the  road.  Here  she  sought  to  play  with  them 
further  by  running  again,  running  as  hard  as  she  could 
alongside  the  fence  that  bounded  the  vegetable  garden. 
Looking  over  her  shoulder  she  had  glimpses  of  two 
pursuers,  bent  double  in  the  road,  and  darting  from 
shadow  to  shadow.  She  took  them  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
down  the  road  and  brought  them  back  to  the  point 
where  her  own  path  struck  off  behind  the  cottage  into 
the  woods. 


The  Night  Long  199 

At  this  point  she  hesitated  for  a  long  time  looking 
all  around  her  like  a  person  wishing  to  make  finally 
sure  that  she  was  not  followed.  As  long  as  she  stood 
still  nothing  stirred  of  course.  Suddenly  she  put  her 
head  down  and  ran  like  a  deer  for  the  woods.  As 
soon  as  she  was  within  cover  she  stopped  and  looked 
back.  Her  pursuers  were  startled  into  showing  them- 
selves openly  on  the  path.  Three  of  them.  Pen  ran 
on  to  the  little  temple  and  flung  herself  down  to  re- 
cover her  breath  and  await  developments.  She  sat 
within  the  little  circle  of  pillars  with  an  arm  flung 
across  the  cool  gravestone  and  her  cheek  pillowed  on 
it.  It  was  quite  dark  there. 

But  nothing  happened.  Nobody  came  plunging  after 
her  into  the  little  opening.  Not  a  sound  was  to  be 
heard.  The  excitement  of  being  chased  died  down, 
and  a  chill  of  apprehension  struck  to  Pen's  breast. 
What  were  they  up  to?  They  couldn't  possibly  see 
what  she  was  doing  in  the  little  temple.  Why  didn't 
they  find  out  then?  The  suspense  became  unbearable. 
Each  minute  was  an  age.  She  could  have  screamed 
aloud. 

Then  she  heard  a  twig  snap— not  in  the  direction 
of  the  path  by  which  she  had  come,  but  on  the  other 
side  of  the  clearing.  It  instantly  became  clear  to  her 
what  was  happening,  and  her  breast  quieted  down. 
She  heard  other  whispers  of  sounds,  the  brush  of 
leaves  against  a  passing  body,  a  released  pebble  roll- 
ing down  the  bank.  Naturally  if  they  thought  Don 
was  in  there  with  her  they  had  to  take  their  precautions. 
They  had  sent  for  help  maybe.  Certainly  they  were 
now  surrounding  the  place. 


20O  Ramshackle  House 

Then  absolute  silence  fell  again,  and  moment  by 
moment  her  breast  became  tighter.  It  was  worse  now 
because  she  could  feel  the  presences  around  her.  Why 
didn't  they  do  something?  Suddenly  a  wicked  little 
thought  occurred  to  her.  She  smiled  and  at  the  same 
time  shook  with  fear.  She  commenced  to  murmur 
half-audibly  to  herself.  It  was  only  a  nursery  rhyme, 
but  she  meant  it  to  sound  like  conversation. 

It  worked.  A  dazzling  white  beam  suddenly  flashed 
in  her  face.  Pen  screamed  and  scrambled  to  her  feet. 
She  did  not  have  to  act  that.  But  oh !  it  was  a  relief 
to  have  it  over  with.  As  she  stood  up  other  lights 
were  thrown  on  her.  She  could  see  nothing  for  the 
shifting,  blinding  circles.  Some  were  held  on  her, 
others  ran  all  over  the  place  like  quicksilver,  like 
scrambling  little  devils  of  light  nosing  in  the  corners. 
One  even  ran  around  under  the  dome  as  if  it  expected 
to  find  Don  clinging  there  like  a  bat. 

From  behind  one  of  the  glares  came  Delefcanty's 
growling  voice :  "Where  is  he  ?" 

"Who?"  said  Pen.     She  was  cool  enough  now. 

"You  know  who  I  mean !"     He  checked  on  oath. 

"I  am  alone  here,"  said  Pen. 

"What  did  you  come  here  for?" 

"To  pray,"  she  said  demurely. 

"Hah!"  He  was  hard  put  to  it  to  control  himself. 
"What  place  is  this?" 

"The  tomb  of  my  ancestors." 

Somebody  threw  a  line  on  the  grave  stone.  The 
beautifully  carved  Gothic  script  was  sharply  outlined. 
A  voice  began  to  read: 

"Here  lies  the  body  of  Pendleton  Broome,  beloved 


The  Night  Long  201 

son  of  Pendleton  Broome  and  Mary  Camalier.  Who 
departed  this  life  ..." 

"Shut  up!"  growled  Delehanty.  To  Pen  he  said: 
"Look  here,  I  want  a  straight  answer.  What  are  you 
doing  here?" 

"I  always  come  here  when  I  wish  to  be  alone,"  said 
Pen  with  delicate  emphasis. 

"Hah!  .  .  .  Mitchell  1"  He  conferred  with  one  of 
his  men. 

Pen  still  blinded  by  their  lights  could  not  see  what 
was  going  on.  A  man  edged  around  behind  her. 
Delehanty  who  had  put  away  his  light  was  busy  with 
something  in  his  hands. 

"Now!"  he  said  abruptly. 

Pen's  arms  were  suddenly  pinned  to  her  sides.  As 
she  opened  her  mouth  to  protest  Delehanty  pressed  his 
twisted  handkerchief  between  her  teeth.  Pen  struggled 
furiously,  but  it  was  pulled  tight  and  knotted  behind 
her  head. 

Delehanty  growled  to  his  men:  "Get  back  in  your 
places.  She's  evidently  got  a  date  with  him  here. 
He'll  be  here  yet.  If  you  let  him  slip  through  your 
fingers,  by  Gad !  I'll  have  you  all  broken." 

Pen  hearing  this,  ceased  to  struggle,  and  smiled  be- 
hind the  gag.  "Well  ...  let  them!"  she  thought. 
"It's  all  to  the  good!" 

Delehanty  said  to  her:     "March!  young  lady!" 

Pen,  just  to  keep  up  appearances,  moaned  behind 
the  gag,  and  hung  back. 

Delehanty  pushed  her  ahead  of  him  in  the  path. 
"Get  along  back  to  the  house  with  you!"  he  com- 
manded. 


202  Ramshackle  House 

Pen  made  no  further  objections. 

He  accompanied  her  back  to  the  house.  Reaching 
the  porch  he  took  off  the  gag. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Pen  demurely. 

"Get  inside,"  he  said.  "You  won't  be  feeling  so  flip 
in  the  morning." 

He  strode  back  towards  the  gates.  But  there  was 
no  certainty  in  his  carnage.  He  suspected  he  had  been 
fooled.  Pen  all  but  laughed  aloud. 

Pen  scampered  across  the  porch,  and  into  the  house, 
closing  and  locking  the  door  behind  her.  All  her  be- 
ing hung  on  the  agonizing  question:  was  he  there? 
She  ran  back  through  the  hall  into  the  kitchen.  In  the 
dark  depths  of  the  house  her  hands  served  her  for 
eyes.  She  knew  it  so  well.  Her  hand  went  unerringly 
to  the  knob  of  the  door  that  gave  on  the  cellar  stairs. 
She  ran  down.  At  the  foot  of  the  stairs  an  agony  of 
apprehension  constricted  her  throat.  She  could  not 
speak  aloud. 

"Don!"  she  gasped. 

From  out  of  the  dark  came  the  answering  whisper: 
"Pen!" 

In  the  ecstasy  of  relief  that  flooded  her  Pen  lost  her 
grip  on  reality  for  a  moment.  Her  knees  gave  under 
her.  She  sank  down  in  a  heap  on  the  earthen  floor. 

Don  sought  all  around  for  her  in  the  dark.  "Pen! 
Pen!"  he  whispered  urgently. 

He  stumbled  against  her.  He  gathered  her  up  and 
held  her  against  him.  She  clung  around  his  neck  in  a 
sort  of  desperation.  But  the  warmth  of  him,  the  ripple 
of  muscle  under  his  cotton  shirt,  the  strong  rise  of  his 


The  Night  Long  203 

breast  against  hers  all  seemed  to  pour  a  new  life  into 
her.  He  was  very  real! 

"Oh,  my  darling!"  she  whispered  .  .  .  "Oh 
Heavens,  what  a  day!" 

"Something  has  happened?"  he  said. 

In  her  relief  she  felt  a  little  light-headed.  "A  few 
things!"  she  giggled. 

"Tell  me." 

"I  will.     Let's  get  out  of  this  hole." 

"Is  it  safe?" 

"My  dear !  .  .  .  Did  you  think  I  was  going  to  store 
you  among  the  potatoes?" 

"I'll  carry  you  up." 

"No,  I'm  all  right  again.    I  must  lead  you." 

She  pulled  him  after  her  towards  the  stairs.  She 
made  no  allowance  for  his  unfamiliarity  with  the  place, 
and  he  fell  over  the  bottom  step  with  a  clatter.  Don 
went  rigid.  Pen  laughed  as  women  do  in  the  dark. 

"Clumsy!"  she  whispered. 

In  the  kitchen  he  asked  for  water.  She  led  him  to 
the  pail,  and  held  the  dipper  to  his  lips.  They  both 
drank  like  hard  driven  horses,  and  sighed  with  refresh- 
ment. Then  she  led  him  up  the  back  stairs.  At  the 
top  she  left  him  for  a  moment  while  she  blew  out  the 
lamps  in  the  back  rooms.  When  they  got  to  the  main 
upper  hall,  through  the  transom  over  Pendleton's  door 
they  heard  a  sound  like  a  saw  being  drawn  very  slowly 
through  rotten  wood.  It  started  Pen  off  again.  She 
hastily  pulled  Don  into  her  room,  and  closing  her  door, 
smothered  her  laughter  in  his  neck.  It  started  him 
going.  They  quivered  and  rocked  with  suppressed 
laughter.  They  finally  sank  down  on  a  sofa  weak, 


2O4  Ramshackle  House 

but  immensely  refreshed.  There  is  nothing  like 
laughter. 

"What  room  is  this?"  whispered  Don. 

"My  room." 

"Oh,  Pen!"  he  murmured  on  a  deep  note. 

"Don't  you  like  being  here?" 

He  drew  her  hard  against  his  side.  "Oh  Pen!  .  .  .. 
I  can't  tell  you  how  it  makes  me  feel !" 

"What  more  natural  refuge  could  you  have,  dear?" 

"But  where  are  you  going  to  keep  me,  Pen?"  he 
asked. 

"Right  here." 

He  drew  away  from  her.  "Oh  no,  I  couldn't  let 
you." 

She  became  angry  immediately.  "Why  not?  Is  it 
because  of  the  danger  to  my  reputation?  .  .  .  Ho\r 
perfectly  silly  under  the  circumstances !" 

"It  isn't  only  that,"  he  muttered  sullenly.  "It's  the 
same  old  thing.  Hiding  behind  your  skirts.  I  can't 
bear  it.  Why,  suppose  I  were  found  here?" 

All  at  once  they  seemed  completely  divided.  "Oh,, 
you  make  me  so  angry!"  she  said  helplessly.  "Think- 
ing about  what  people  would  say!  You  think  more  of 
what  people  say  than  you  do  of  me !  What  have  you 
and  I  got  to  do  with  what  people  say?" 

"You're  not  quite  fair  to  me,"  he  said. 

The  note  of  quiet  stubbornness  terrified  her.  Here 
was  a  force  she  could  not  gauge.  "Oh,  we  must  not 
quarrel!"  she  murmured  with  a  catch  in  her  breath 
.  .  .  "Oh,  Don,  I  love  you  so !" 

"Oh  my  Pen!"  he  murmured  gathering  her  in  his 
arms  again. 


The  Night  Long  205 

There  was  a  blessed  peaceful  interlude. 

After  awhile  she  murmured  in  a  small  voice :  "Then 
you  will  stay  here  until  we  can  think  up  something 
else?" 

But  the  quiet  stubbornness  was  unaltered.  "I  won't 
promise  anything.  I  must  be  free  to  decide." 

"But  Don!  After  all  the  trouble  I  have  had  to 
get  you  here!  You're  in  my  castle,  and  I  must  know 
where  I  have  you.  Mustn't  you  let  me  decide  for  the 
time  being?" 

"That's  just  the  rub,"  he  said  ruefully.  "You're  so 
bossy,  Pen.  If  you  had  me  here  right  under  your 
thumb  I  wouldn't  be  able  to  call  my  soul  my  own." 

Pen  refused  to  see  any  humor  in  the  situation, 
"Would  it  matter  for  a  little  while?" 

"You  wouldn't  want  a  tame  man !" 

The  ever-present  fear  leaped  to  her  lips.  "You're 
thinking  of  giving  yourself  up !" 

"No,"  he  said  soberly.  "I've  changed  my  mind 
about  that.  Since  I've  been  reading  the  papers.  I'll 
keep  them  on  the  look  until  I  see  a  chance  to  make  a 
good  fight." 

Pen  kissed  him  passionately.  "Ah,  that's  a  load  off 
my  breast!"  she  cried.  "That's  what  kept  me  awake 
nights!" 

"But  I  must  be  allowed  to  play  my  own  hand,"  he 
insisted. 

"All  right,  stubborn !  .  .  .  Now  listen,  while  I  tell 
you  everything  that  happened  to-day." 

On  the  sofa  near  the  front  windows,  with  her  lips 
close  to  his  ear  she  told  him  the  story  of  Blanche 
Paglar.  How  sweet  it  was  to  feel  in  the  pressure  of 


206  Ramshackle  House 

his  hand  on  hers  how  his  excitement  and  his  hope 
grew  with  the  tale. 

He  would  not  let  himself  hope  too  far.  When  she 
had  come  to  the  end,  he  said  cautiously:  "Well,  that's 
a  beginning.  But  it's  a  wild  scheme,  Pen.  You 
mustn't  bank  too  much  on  it.  Suppose  you're  right 
about  Riever — it  begins  to  look  as  if  you  were  right. 
— No  jury  would  take  the  testimony  of  a  lot  of  gang- 
sters against  that  of  the  famous  millionaire.  And  all 
old  Riever's  powerful  friends  would  rally  round  him. 
We're  not  out  of  the  woods  yet." 

"I  don't  care  so  much  about  convicting  Riever  se 
long  as  we  raise  a  sufficient  doubt  to  make  a  jury  afraid 
to  convict  you!" 

"But  it  would  be  a  point  of  honor  with  that  gang 
to  convict  me,  see?  .  .  .  What  happened  after  you 
got  home?" 

She  told  him  that  part  somewhat  toned  down.  She 
suppressed  the  fact  of  Riever's  proposal. 

Don  said  wisely:  "I  believe  Riever's  falling  in  love 
with  you !" 

Pen  smiled  and  kissed  him. 

He  laughed  at  her  tale  of  how  she  had  led  the  detec- 
tives into  the  woods,  and  left  them  there  watching. 

"But  wait  a  minute,"  he  said.  "After  awhile  it  will 
begin  to  percolate  into  their  thick  heads  that  they've 
been  sold.  They'll  begin  to  put  two  and  two  together. 
They'll  realize  that  you  drew  them  away  from  the 
house  on  purpose  .  .  .  Take  it  from  me  we'll  have  a 
visit  from  them  before  morning.  You'd  better  let 
me  go  while  the  going's  good!" 

Pen  clung  to  him.  "No !  No !     Can't  you  stay  with 


The  Night  Long  207 

me  an  hour  without  beginning  to  fidget?  .  .  .  They're 
going  to  comb  the  woods  at  dawn.  Where  could  you 
go?" 

"But  they'll  search  the  house  first." 

"No  matter.  I'm  on  my  own  ground  here.  I'm 
prepared  for  them.  .  .  .  Wait  a  minute  1" 

Leaving  him,  she  unlocked  the  door  into  the  back 
room,  and  disappeared  for  a  few  minutes.  She  re- 
turned through  the  other  door. 

"Where've  you  been?"  he  asked. 

"Preparing  a  line  of  retreat,"  she  said  smiling. 

"What  time  is  it,  Pen?" 

"Not  midnight  yet.    Things  have  been  moving  fast." 

"You  must  be  worn  out,  dear.  Lie  down  and  sleep. 
I'll  keep  watch." 

"Silly  1  Do  you  think  I  could  sleep  with  you  in  the 
room?" 

"Then  I'll  go  in  the  next  room." 

"No!  What's  an  hour  or  two's  sleep ?  .  .  .  Come 
and  sit  down  again." 

On  the  sofa  near  the  windows  she  leaned  back 
against  him,  her  head  in  the  hollow  of  his  shoulder. 
He  sunk  his  cheek  in  her  hair. 

"Pen,  it's  just  a  week  to-day  since  we  met.  Isn't 
that  strange?" 

"What's  time  got  to  do  with  it?  I  knew  the  very 
first  moment." 

"I,  too." 

"Story-teller  1  The  first  look  you  gave  me  was  not 
that  kind  at  all?" 

"What  kind  was  it?" 


2o8  Ramshackle  House 

"Oh,  a  kind  of  ...  kind  of  sprightly  look.  Ob* 
serve  little  bright-eyes!" 

"Pen  I" 

She  laughed  delightedly. 

"Well,  it  happened  so  soon  afterwards  it  doesn't 
count." 

"I  wonder  how  it  is  'to  a  man,"  she  murmured 
dreamily.  "With  me  ...  well  it  was  like  hating  you, 
you  upset  me  so!" 

"You  made  me  a  little  sore,  too.  You  were  so 
bossy!" 

"You  always  say  that!" 

It  was  his  turn  to  chuckle  in  his  throat. 

"Dearest,  I  have  a  confession  to  make  to  you,"  she 
whispered.  "Do  you  know,  when  I  first  read  that 
story  in  the  newspapers  I  was  glad." 

"Glad?" 

"Yes,  of  course  I  knew  that  it  wasn't  true.  .  .  .  And 
I  knew  that  I  shouldn't  lose  you." 

"Pen  I  ...  You  wouldn't  have  lost  me  anyway. 
I  was  thinking  about  it  when  you  came  down  to  the 
tent  splashing  through  the  water.  I  wasn't  going." 

"Oh  Don  how  sweet  that  is  to  my  ears!  .  .  . 
Sometimes  I  have  felt  that  circumstances  forced  me 
on  you." 

"Nothing  in  it !  You'd  already  got  your  hooks  into 
me." 

"What  an  expression!" 

"You  made  goodness  seem  so  charming!" 

"I,  good?  ...  If  you  knew!" 

"I  do  know.  I  know  exactly  what  I  mean.  There's 
so  much  disgusting  hypocrisy  in  the  world  a  fellow  get* 


The  Night  Long  209 

to  think  that  the  bad  people  are  the  only  honest  ones. 
You  taught  me  better." 

Pen  turned  and  clung  to  him.  A  tear  or  two  rolled 
down  her  cheeks.  "Oh,  my  dear!  ...  It  isn't  true! 
.  .  .  But  it  comforts  me  so!" 

Enfolded  in  happiness  and  delicious  peace,  they 
became  sleepy  in  spite  of  themselves.  Notwithstand- 
ing his  sleepy  protests,  she  drew  herself  away  from 
him. 

"Stretch  out,"  she  whispered.  "I  will  sit  on  the  stool 
beside  you  where  I  can  look  at  you.  I  love  so  to  look 
at  you!" 

"Pen!  ...  No!    You  sleep!  .  .  .  I'll  keep  watch  I" 

But  he  sunk  lower  and  lower.  Soon  he  was  gone. 
Pen  sitting  beside  him  could  gaze  her  fill.  The  moon 
was  coming  in  the  front  windows  now.  The  -direct 
rays  did  not  fall  on  him,  but  there  was  light  enough 
for  her  to  see.  All  relaxed  and  helpless  like  that  he 
seemed  to  belong  to  her  more  completely  than  he  ever 
did  awake — and  stubborn.  She  could  scarcely  bear  to 
look  at  him. 

In  the  end  she  slept  too  with  her  cheek  on  his  breast. 

She  was  awakened,  she  knew  not  how  long  after- 
wards, by  a  sound.  Even  in  the  instant  of  waking  she 
recognized  the  sound.  It  was  the  stealthy  creak  of  the 
tin  roof  outside  her  window.  At  the  touch  of  her  hand 
on  his  cheek  Don  awoke  all  of  a  piece.  He  slipped 
noiselessly  to  the  floor.  They  crept  to  the  middle  of 
the  room. 

With  her  lips  at  his  ear  she  breathed:  "There's 
a  man  on  the  porch  roof." 

"Did  he  look  in?" 


2io  Ramshackle  House 

"I  don't  think  so.  He  couldn't  have  seen  you 
through  the  screen." 

"If  he  tries  to  come  in  ...  ?" 

"Slip  through  the  door  behind  you." 

Don  made  to  creep  away  from  her.  She  laid  a  hand 
on  his  arm.  "Wait!" 

There  was  no  further  sound  from  the  man  outside. 

"He's  not  coming  in,"  Pen  whispered.  "He's  out 
there  to  cut  off  your  escape." 

A  tremendous  rat-tat-tat  resounded  through  the 
empty  halls. 

"I  shouldn't  have  slept!"  murmured  Don. 

"It's  all  right!"  whispered  Pen.  "I  intended  you 
should  stay  here.'* 

"I  feel  trapped  within  walls!" 

"You  are  safest  here!" 

The  knocking  was  imperiously  repeated.  Outside 
Pen's  door  they  heard  her  father's  agitated  voice. 

"Pen,  are  you  there  ?" 

"Yes,  Dad,"  she  said  coolly. 

"Stay  where  you  are,  my  dear.     I'll  go  down." 

For  the  third  time  that  night  the  worthy  little  man 
pattered  down  stairs  in  his  bare  feet. 

Pen  opened  her  door  an  inch.  She  heard  her 
father's  prudent  inquiry  through  the  closed  door, 
and  a  gruff  voice  outside  reply : 

"Open  the  door!" 

Pendleton  remonstrated,  and  the  voice,  Delehanty's, 
was  brutally  raised : 

"Open  the  door  or  I'll  smash  it  in  1" 

She  heard  the  key  squeak  in  the  lock.  Pendleton's 
remonstrances  were  drowned  in  the  sounds  made  by 


The  Night  Long  211 

the  entrance  of  a  number  of  men.  Pendleton's  voice 
was  raised  in  agonized  tones.  Delehanty  said: 

"We're  going  to  search  the  house  I'* 

Pen  had  the  sense  that  her  little  father  was  trying 
to  bar  them  out  by  main  strength.  Signing  to  Don  to 
remain  where  he  was,  she  hastened  to  the  head  of  the 
stairs.  She  called  down: 

"Let  them  in,  father.     We  have  nothing  to  hide." 

Returning  to  her  room  she  locked  the  door.  Her 
father  came  up  stairs  accompanied  by  a  pair  of  shod 
feet.  His  voice  at  Pen's  door  was  utterly  bewildered. 

"They  insist  on  searching  the  house  .  .  .  searching 
the  house!  At  this  hour!" 

"Well,  that's  all  right,"  said  Pen. 

"They  say  if  you'll  stay  quietly  in  your  room  they'll 
leave  that  until  last.  There's  a  man  out  here  on  guard. 
Better  dress,  dear." 

"I  shall  be  all  right,"  said  Pen. 

She  turned  and  kissed  Don  with  a  smile  on  her  lips. 
Her  eyes  shone  with  the  light  of  battle. 

He  looked  more  dubious.  "Is  your  way  of  retreat 
still  open?"  he  whispered. 

She  nodded. 

"Well  then  .   .   .  ?" 

"Wait  till  they  come  up  stairs." 

She  listened  with  her  ear  at  the  crack  of  the  door. 
Vague  sounds  arose  from  below.  She  was  tormented 
by  her  inability  to  hear  exactly.  Finally  she  motioned 
to  Don  to  stand  back  out  of  any  possible  range  of 
vision,  and  opening  the  door,  she  put  her  head  around 
it. 


212  Ramshackle  House 

Instantly  a  flash-light  was  thrown  on  her  and  a 
voice  said: 

"You  can't  come  out,  Miss." 

"I  don't  want  to  come  out,"  said  Pen  coolly.  "I 
want  to  hear  what's  going  on  in  my  house." 

Now  her  ear  practised  in  that  house,  could  follow 
their  movements  very  well.  They  were  in  the  cellar. 
They  took  no  precautions  for  silence.  They  came 
stamping  up  the  cellar  stairs,  and  were  to  be  heard  in 
the  kitchen  and  the  outer  kitchen.  They  spread 
through  the  main  rooms  of  the  house.  Pen  smiled  to 
herself,  hearing  them  move  heavy  objects  of  furniture, 
looking  for  hiding-places  in  the  walls.  Finally  they 
started  up  the  main  stairway,  but  were  diverted  into 
the  rear  extension.  Doors  were  opened  and  shut,  fur- 
niture pulled  about.  As  they  started  to  move  back 
towards  the  front,  Pen  closed  her  door. 

"They're  coming  I"  she  breathed  in  Don's  can. 
"Now'sthe  time!" 

She  took  him  to  the  door  leading  to  the  rear  room. 
"Lock  this  door  behind  you  and  put  the  key  in  your 
pocket."  She  pointed  to  an  open  window  in  the  corner 
of  the  room  facing  the  rear.  "There's  your  way  out. 
The  ironing-board  is  on  the  floor  under  the  window. 
Stretch  it  across  catty-cornered  to  the  sash  of  the  bath- 
room window.  I  pulled  down  the  top  sash  ready  for 
you.  As  you  go,  turn  and  close  this  window  behind 
you.  When  you  get  in  the  bath-room  pull  the  board 
after  you.  Don't  touch  that  window.  It  squeaks. 
Wait  in  the  bath-room  with  the  door  open.  If  you 
hear  anybody  coming  that  way  slip  down  the  back 
stairs  and  into  the  cellar.  While  you're  in  the  bath- 


The  Night  Long  213 

room  watch  this  window.  When  they're  through  with 
this  room  I'll  raise  the  window  and  leave  it  up.  That's 
your  signal  to  come  back." 

There  was  a  peremptory  knock  on  the  door  of  Pen's 
room.  The  lovers  pressed  hands  and  parted.  Slipping 
through  the  door,  Don  closed  it  noiselessly  and  turned 
the  key. 

"What  is  it?"  Pen  asked. 

The  voice  of  Delehanty  brusquely  replied:  "Open  the 
door,  please." 

Pen  wanted  all  the  time  she  could  gain.  "Is  my 
father  there?"  she  asked  as  if  in  doubt. 

"Yes,  my  dear,"  said  Pendleton  quaveringly.  "Please 
open." 

"One  moment!" 

She  turned  down  the  covers  of  her  bed,  and  rumpled 
them.  Her  ears  were  strained  for  sounds  from  the 
back,  but  she  heard  nothing.  So  much  the  better! 

"You've  had  plenty  of  time  to  dress !"  said  De- 
lehanty harshly. 

She  opened  the  door.  There  was  a  small  crowd 
in  the  hall.  One  carried  a  brilliant  acetylene  lantern 
which  filled  the  place  with  a  strong  white  light  and 
threw  grotesque  shadows  upwards.  All  the  detectives 
had  their  hats  on;  some  were  short,  some  tall.  It 
was  like  a  caricature  in  violent  chiaroscuro.  As  for 
Pendleton,  he  had  his  pants  pulled  over  his  night-shirt 
and  his  bare  feet  looked  piteous.  A  picture  of  inef- 
fectiveness, he  was  still  carrying  a  lighted  candle  in 
all  that  glare. 

Without  so  much  as  by  your  leave  Delehanty  strode 
into  the  room  with  three  of  his  men  at  his  heels.  The 


214  Ramshackle  House 

chief  was  chewing  an  extinct  cigar  which  smelled  vilely. 
Pen  choked  with  rage.  She  bit  her  lips  to  keep  back 
an  outburst.  Her  father  went  to  her,  and  squeezed 
her  hand  imploringly.  The  three  men  spread  around 
the  room  like  well-trained  dogs.  One  could  imagine 
them  sniffing.  They  were  armed  with  electric  torches 
with  which  to  illumine  dark  corners.  Delehanty  went 
direct  to  the  door  into  the  rear  room  and  rattled  it. 

"What's  behind  here?"  he  demanded. 

"Another  bed  room,"  said  Pen.    "The  guest-room." 

"Guest-room?"  sneered  Delehanty.  "Where's  the 
key?" 

"The  door  has  been  locked  for  many  years.  I 
couldn't  tell  you." 

"Well  what's  the  door  from  that  room  into  the  hall 
doing  locked?" 

"Because  I  keep  certain  things  of  value  in  there. 
I  don't  want  the  servants  to  go  in." 

Pen's  father  must  have  wondered  at  this  answer. 
But  perhaps  he  was  too  confused  to  take  in  what  she 
was  saying.  At  any  rate  he  kept  quiet. 

"Is  that  key  lost  too?"  sneered  Delehanty. 

"No,"  said  Pen  calmly.  "It's  among  the  other  keys 
on  the  rack  in  my  sewing-room.  My  father  will  get 
it  for  you." 

Pendleton  trotted  obediently  away  with  his  candle. 

When  he  came  back  with  it  Delehanty's  sleuths  had 
completed  their  search  of  Pen's  room.  The  whole 
party  passed  around  through  the  hall  to  the  door  of 
the  guest-room.  The  men  showed  excitement.  They 
thought  they  had  their  man.  Delehanty  flung  the  door 
open  and  stepped  back.  He  ordered  his  men  to  cast 


The  Night  Long  215 

the  light  of  their  electric  torches  inside.  This  was  to 
draw  the  fire  of  the  supposed  occupant.  Pen's  lip 
curled.  Finally  the  men  ventured  across  the  threshold. 

The  acetylene  lantern  filled  the  great  bare  chamber 
with  light.  It  was  meagerly  furnished,  a  gigantic  bed- 
room set  of  the  carved  walnut  period,  the  bed  with  an 
old-fashioned  mosquito  bar,  an  air-tight  stove,  an 
humble  little  rocking-chair.  The  great  expanse  of 
white  wall  was  guiltless  of  paper  or  tint,  and  showed 
long  fine  cracks  running  in  every  direction  like  the 
map  of  a  complicated  river  system.  The  floor  was 
covered  with  matting. 

Delehanty  sniffed.  "The  air  is  fresh.  Therefs 
been  a  window  open  in  here." 

Pen's  heart  contracted.  "The  room  is  aired  every 
day,"  she  said  quickly. 

Delehanty  went  to  the  window  in  the  corner.  The 
two  windows  at  the  side  of  the  room  were  shuttered 
on  the  outside.  He  cast  his  light  along  the  sill. 

"There's  no  dust  here,"  he  said  accusingly. 

"There's  no  dust  anywhere  in  my  house,"  said  Pen. 

Delehanty  commanded  the  window  to  be  opened. 
The  acetylene  light  was  held  outside.  This  was  the 
crucial  moment.  Pen  held  her  breath. 

"What  is  there?"  asked  Delehanty. 

"Eighteen  or  twenty  foot  drop,  sir." 

"Any  gutter  pipe  or  lightning  rod?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Close  the  window." 

Pen  breathed  again. 

The  bare  room  offered  but  few  places  of  conceal- 
ment, under  the  bed,  within  the  washstand,  a  shallow 


2i6  Ramshackle  House 

clothes  closet  in  the  wall.  They  even  looked  in  the 
bureau  drawers.  Finally  Delehanty  with  a  grunt, 
moved  towards  the  door.  Pen's  heart  swelled  big 
with  triumph. 

She  glanced  at  Delehanty's  cigar.  "Would  you  mind 
leaving  the  window  open?"  she  said  cuttingly. 

At  a  nod  from  the  chief,  one  of  the  men  flung  up 
the  sash.  Pen  felt  a  little  quiver  of  inward  laughter. 
There  was  something  humorous  in  making  the  enemy 
transmit  one's  signals.  All  left  the  room  and  Pen 
locked  the  door.  She  handed  the  key  to  her  father. 

"Please  put  it  where  you  got  it." 

Delehanty  fixed  her  with  an  irascible,  suspicious  eye. 
"You  come  along  with  us  the  rest  of  the  way,  Miss.  I 
want  no  trickery  1" 

Pen  shrugged. 

The  search  went  on,  that  queer  crew  straggling 
through  the  rooms  accompanied  by  their  grotesque  up- 
flung  shadows.  Through  Pen's  sewing-room  and  into 
Pendleton's  bed-room.  From  thence  they  passed  into 
the  extraordinary  room  behind  where  he  kept  all  his 
"Collections."  He  never  threw  anything  away. 
Everything  under  the  sun  was  to  be  found  there.  All 
around  the  walls  were  rickety,  home-made  tables  heaped 
with  his  impedimenta. 

All  this  occupied  the  searchers  quite  a  while.  They 
threw  his  stuff  about  regardless  of  his  protests. 

Finally  there  was  the  third  story  which  Pen  had 
long  ago  given  up  to  dust  and  spiders  and  last  of  all 
the  "cupalow"  into  which  Keesing  to  Pen's  amusement, 
ascended  with  drawn  revolver. 


The  Night  Long  217 

In  the  end  Delehanty  stamped  down-stairs  in  a  vil- 
lainous temper,  his  soft-footed  sleuths  at  his  heels. 

At  the  front  door  Pendleton  attempted  to  recover 
his  dignity.  "Now  I  trust  you'll  favor  me  with  some 
explanation,"  he  began. 

"Ah!  ask  your  daughter  for  the  explanation!" 
snarled  the  detective.  "Take  my  advice,  and  keep  her 
home  nights!" 

They  all  went.    Pendleton  turned  to  Pen  aghast. 

"What  did  he  mean  by  that?" 

But  Pen's  heart  was  dancing.  An  irresponsible  gale 
of  laughter  caught  her  up.  She  had  a  wicked  impulse 
to  see  her  father's  bare  feet  twinkle.  She  caught  his 
wrists  (he  still  had  the  candle)  and  attempted  to  whirl 
him  around. 

"Oh  joy !  Oh  joy !  Oh  joy !"  she  cried.  "They're 
gone!" 

"Pen!    Have  you  gone  crazy,"  he  protested. 

"Yes,  it's  the  heat!" 

"Be  quiet!     What  did  the  man  mean?" 

"How  do  I  know?  A  man  will  say  anything  when 
he's  sore  .  .  .  Come  on  back  to  bed." 

She  pulled  him  wildly  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs, 
Pendleton  leaning  back,  and  his  bare  feet  slapping 
the  floor  absurdly.  Pen  laughed  so  she  had  to  sit  on 
the  bottom  step  to  recover. 

"Your  levity  is  very  ill-timed !"  he  said  severely. 

That  only  made  her  laugh  the  more.  "Come  on! 
Come  on!"  she  said,  dragging  him  up-stairs. 

At  the  door  of  his  room  she  kissed  him,  and  gave 
him  a  push  inside.  She  flew  across  to  her  own  room 
and  let  herself  in. 


218  Ramshackle  House 

"Don!  Don!"  she  just  breathed,  holding  out  her 
hands. 

There  was  no  answer. 

She  flew  to  the  door  between  the  two  rooms.  It 
yielded  to  her  hand.  The  key  was  in  it.  So  he  had 
come  back.  The  window  in  the  corner  was  still  open. 
It  was  very  dark  in  the  back  room.  She  felt  all  around 
for  him,  softly  whispering  his  name.  Her  breast 
contracted  with  apprehension.  She  ran  back  into  the 
front  room  to  make  a  light. 

As  soon  as  the  candle  flame  grew  up  she  saw  a 
piece  of  paper  pinned  to  the  wooden  mantel.  It  looked 
like  the  fly  leaf  torn  out  of  a  book.  There  was  a  pencil 
scrawl  upon  it. 

"Dearest:  Writing  in  the  dark.  That  was  too  near 
a  thing.  Can't  let  you  take  such  risks.  I'm  off  on  my 
own.  Don't  worry.  Love. 

"D." 


CHAPTER  X 

DAYS  OF  SUSPENSE 

PEN  lay  on  her  bed  wide-eyed  and  dry-eyed  until 
near  dawn.  It  did  not  lessen  her  misery  any  that 
a  good  part  of  it  was  anger  at  having  her  will  balked. 
She  accused  Don  by  turn  of  callousness,  of  ingratitude, 
of  folly;  she  tried  to  tell  herself  that  he  was  not  worth 
saving,  but  without  abating  any  of  her  torments  of 
anxiety  as  to  his  fate.  It  was  worse  than  anxiety;  she 
had  a  horrible,  dull  certainty  that  he  would  be  taken 
as  soon  as  it  became  light.  Like  a  wilful  child  intent 
only  upon  having  his  own  way,  he  had  run  blindly  out 
into  their  trap. 

After  the  briefest  period  of  unconsciousness  she 
was  awakened  by  a  stir  outside  the  house.  Looking 
out  of  the  window  she  saw  that  the  sun  was  but  just 
up,  the  great  square  shadow  of  the  house  reached 
almost  to  the  edge  of  the  bank.  Nevertheless  early 
as  it  was,  the  house  grounds  were  full  of  people,  and 
more  were  arriving  through  the  gates.  These  were 
Islanders,  fisher-folk,  or  men  from  the  farms  in  earth- 
colored  garments.  Under  the  bank  she  could  hear  the 
put-put  of  arriving  motor-boats.  Among  the  people 
the  gross  figure  of  Delehanty  was  conspicuous,  moving 
about,  picking  out  men  here  and  there. 

Well,  if  he  was  still  looking  for  men  Don  was  not 
yet  caught,  nevertheless,  Pen's  heart  sickened  at  the 

2IQ 


22O  Ramshackle  House 

sight.  It  was  clear  enough  what  was  happening.  Dur- 
ing the  last  few  days  popular  interest  in  the  chase  had 
fallen  off,  but  the  news  of  the  finding  of  the  canoe  had 
revived  it.  The  blood  lust  was  aroused  again.  When 
she  got  down  to  the  kitchen  Pen  learned  from  the  ex- 
cited negroes  that  Riever  had  increased  the  reward  to 
ten  thousand  dollars.  That  was  what  had  brought  the 
crowd. 

Like  a  woman  who  had  died  and  whose  body  was 
condemned  to  drag  on,  Pen  started  things  going  in 
the  kitchen  and  set  the  table  for  breakfast.  When  her 
father  came  into  the  dining-room  even  he  who  noticed 
so  little,  was  struck  by  the  contrast  of  her  present 
look  with  the  laughing  maenad  who  had  thrust  him 
into  his  room  the  night  before. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  asked  sharply. 

Pen  shrugged.  She  had  to  make  some  excuse. 
"Last  night  was  too  much  for  me,"  she  muttered. 

"I  thought  so!"  he  said  severely.  "I  told  you  you 
were  acting  wildly  .  .  .  Riever  had  nothing  to  do  with 
that  affair,"  he  added  irrelevantly. 

"What  difference  does  it  make?" 

Pendleton  had  already  been  out  of  doors,  and  he 
could  talk  about  nothing  but  the  latest  developments 
of  the  case.  In  his  new  interest,  his  resentment  against 
Delehanty  had  cooled.  Pen  could  not  gather  from  his 
talk  what  they  were  saying  about  her.  No  doubt  they 
spared  his  feelings — or  mocked  him  without  his  being 
aware  of  it.  With  the  curious  blindness  that  was 
characteristic  of  him,  he  had  not  yet  connected  the 
finding  of  the  canoe  with  his  daughter. 

"How  strange  that  Counsell  should  have  corne  back 


Days  of  Suspense  221 

here  after  having  paddled  away!"  he  said.  "And  yet, 
how  natural  I  It  was  the  last  thing  anyone  would  sup- 
pose that  he  would  do !" 

Pen  let  him  run  on,  half  attending. 

Worse  was  in  store  for  her.     Her  father  said: 

"Of  course  Riever  has  been  entirely  discreet  in  mak- 
ing his  new  announcement.  He  had  it  written  out  and 
sent  it  over  to  the  Island  last  night  to  be  posted  up 
outside  the  store.  His  offer  reads:  'Ten  thousand 
dollars  for  the  apprehension  of  Donald  Counsell.'  But 
everybody  understands  that  it  means  dead  or  alive. 
Many  of  the  men  are  armed." 

Pen  thought  she  had  experienced  the  extremity  of 
torment.  But  this  was  saving  for  her.  She  half  rose 
from  her  chair  with  a  face  of  horror,  and  dropped  back 
again. 

"But  this  is  murder!"  she  gasped. 

"Eh?"  said  little  Pendleton  blinking. 

"Cold-blooded  murder!  .  .  .  Cynical  murder! 
.  .  .  To  set  an  armed  mob  after  a  defenseless  man 
.  .  .  with  the  promise  of  reward!" 

"But  he's  desperate.  If  he's  cornered  he'll 
fight  .  .  ." 

"He  is  unarmed!"  said  Pen. 

Her  father's  jaw  dropped.     "How  do  you  know?" 

She  saw  that  she  had  betrayed  herself,  but  she  was 
beyond  caring.  Pushing  her  chair  back  she  went  to 
the  mantel  and  resting  her  arms  upon  it  dropped  her 
head  on  them.  "Oh  God !  what  sort  of  a  world  is  it 
where  such  things  are  possible!"  she  cried. 

"Pen,  what  am  I  to  think  from  this?"  he  stammered 
aghast. 


222  Ramshackle  House 

She  could  not  be  still  in  her  agony.  She  paced 
up  and  down  stretching  up  her  arms  for  the  ease  to  her 
breast  which  was  not  to  be  had.  "Whatever  you  like  I" 
she  said. 

"You  have  been  seeing  him?  You  know  where  he 
is?" 

"I  don't  know  now." 

"My  God!" 

Pen  hurried  from  the  room,  leaving  him  in  a  state 
of  collapse. 

She  still  went  about  her  daily  tasks  like  a  piece  of 
mechanism.  She  had  to  keep  in  some  sort  of  motion. 
She  experienced  strange  lapses,  discovered  herself  of- 
fering whole  corn  in  her  hand  to  the  newly-hatched 
chicks;  came  to  to  find  herself  in  places  without  any 
notion  of  what  she  had  come  for*  Her  father  kept 
out  of  her  way. 

It  took  a  long  time  to  organize  the  searchers. 
Delehanty  was  not  taking  any  chance  of  failure.  He 
was  in  no  particular  hurry  since  he  had  already  sent  a 
large  party  by  boat  to  the  head  of  the  creek  to  cut 
off  any  escape  up  the  Neck.  Finally  about  ten  o'clock 
the  rest  were  ready.  They  set  off  in  three  parties,  the 
first  making  its  way  along  the  river  shore  to  comb  the 
woods  on  the  AbsolonVs  Island  side;  the  second  setting 
off  towards  the  lighthouse  to  surround  the  pond  in 
the  woods;  the  third  and  largest  party  heading  straight 
back  by  the  Neck  road.  Their  instructions  were  to 
deploy  along  the  edge  of  the  woods,  and  wait  until 
they  got  in  touch  with  the  parties  on  either  flank.  Two 
lads  who  brought  motor-cycles  over  from  the  Island 


Days  of  Suspense  223 

were  delegated  to  act  as  messengers  between  Delehanty 
and  the  searchers. 

When  they  had  gone  an  ominous  Sabbath  quiet  de- 
scended on  Broome's  Point,  which  was  harder  to  bear 
than  the  confusion.  Delehanty  went  off  to  the  cottage. 
There  was  no  one  to  be  seen  but  a  few  of  the  yellow- 
faced  squatters'  women  from  up  the  Neck  who  peered 
from  under  their  sun-bonnets  with  shy,  half-human 
eyes,  and  a  group  of  old  men  standing  by  the  porch 
discussing  bygone  murders  with  zest. 

Later,  Pen  came  upon  her  father  in  the  back  kitchen, 
or  dairy,  evidently  seeking  to  waylay  her.  He  seemed 
not  greatly  affected  by  the  scene  in  the  dining-room, 
only  for  a  hang-dog  air,  and  a  difficulty  in  meeting  her 
glance.  As  a  matter  of  fact  Pen's  tragic  eyes  intimi- 
dated him.  For  himself,  he  had  been  absorbed  in 
trifles  for  so  long  that  he  could  not  feel  anything  very 
deeply. 

He  said:  "I  suppose  you've  forgotten  that  we  were 
to  lunch  on  the  yacht  to-day." 

Pen  stared  at  him.    Still  he  had  not  understood  I 

"I  suppose  you  don't  want  to  go,"  he  said  quickly. 

"No,"  said  Pen. 

"What  will  Mr.  Riever  think,"  he  said  plaintively. 

"I  don't  care." 

The  gathering  storm  on  her  brows  warned  him  not 
to  go  any  further.  But  he  still  hung  around  like  a 
child. 

To  get  rid  of  him  Pen  said:    "Why  don't  you  go?" 

He  brightened.  "Well,  I  wasn't  sure  if  it  was 
proper.  .  ." 


224  Ramshackle  House 

"Oh  go  ahead!  Tell  him  I'm  sick.  Tell  him  any- 
thing you  like." 

"Well  I  will  if  you  think  it's  all  right.  I  want  to 
talk  business  with  him  anyway." 

He  donned  the  old  frock  coat  and  the  comical,  flat 
straw  hat  and  set  off  as  blithely  as  a  child  with  a  penny 
in  its  hand.  Pen's  glance  after  him  was  bitter.  Never- 
theless she  was  thankful  to  be  rid  of  him. 

There  came  a  time  when  Pen  could  no  longer  keep 
up  even  the  pretense  of  doing  her  chores.  Always 
with  her  mind's  eyes  she  was  following  the  searchers. 
They  had  come  to  the  edge  of  the  woods.  They  were 
spreading  out.  They  were  waiting  until  the  parties 
on  either  side  came  up.  Now  they  had  climbed  the 
fence  and  were  advancing  slowly  with  their  guns  held 
ready;  ignorant,  passionate  men  with  their  guns 
cocked!  She  went  to  her  room  and  paced  up  and 
down  with  her  clenched  hands  pressed  to  her  breast. 
She  could  not  stay  there  either.  She  came  down  on 
the  porch  where  she  could  hear  better  and  paced  end- 
lessly up  and  down,  careless  of  who  might  be  a  witness 
to  her  agitation.  All  her  faculties  were  concentrated 
on  hearing.  She  was  listening  for  shots. 

Time  passed  and  there  was  no  news.  She  sent 
Ellick,  the  more  intelligent  of  Aunt  Maria's  sons  down 
to  the  beach  to  pick  up  what  he  could.  One  or  two 
negroes  had  come  over  in  the  boats.  This  was  re- 
garded as  a  white  man's  business  and  they  were  not 
allowed  to  take  part  in  it.  Nothing  transpired  until 
mid-afternoon  when  Ellick  came  back  to  say  that  the 
motorcycle  boys  had  brought  in  Counsell's  camping 


Days  of  Suspense  225 

outfit  which  had  been  found  in  the  woods.  Of 
Counsell  himself  there  was  no  word. 

A  wild  hope  arose  in  Pen's  breast.  Suppose  after 
all  he  had  succeeded  in  getting  away  up  the  Neck  be- 
fore the  line  was  drawn  across  it  I 

Her  hope  soon  sickened  though.  What  good  if  he 
had  escaped  for  the  moment?  There  was  but  the  one 
road  eighty  miles  long,  by  which  he  could  reach  cities 
and  crowds  and  safety.  And  by  this  time  everybody 
along  that  road  was  on  the  qui  vive  to  catch  him,  their 
mouths  watering  at  the  ten  thousand  dollar  reward. 
What  chance  had  he  of  succor?  WThere  could  he  get 
food?  Or  on  that  sandy  peninsula,  water? 

She  tormented  her  brain  with  futile  calculations. 
Could  he  or  could  he  not  have  made  it?  Delehanty 
had  dispatched  the  party  up  the  creek  immediately 
after  searching  the  house.  Pen  had  heard  the  boats 
set  off.  By  that  time  Don  had  had  half  an  hour's 
start.  A  man  walks  perhaps  four  miles  an  hour,  the 
boats  averaged  seven.  It  was  four  miles  to  the  head 
of  the  creek,  and  but  a  step  from  the  landing  to  the 
Neck  road.  Still  Don  ought  to  have  got  there  first. 
But  he  might  have  turned  aside  to  get  something  from 
his  hidden  store  in  the  woods!  Pen's  brain  whirled 
dizzily. 

At  other  times  she  pictured  him  crouching  white- 
faced  in  the  bush,  listening  to  the  relentless  slow  ap- 
proach of  the  searchers,  and  knowing  that  the  other 
side  was  watched  too.  Then  the  dash  for  freedom, 
the  shots  .  .  .  That  picture  came  back  again  and 
again.  She  could  not  shut  it  out.  How  gladly  she 


226  Ramshackle  House 

would  have  heard  the  news  that  he  had  been  brought  in 
— unhurt. 

At  five  o'clock  she  beheld  her  father  turning  in  at 
the  gate  accompanied  by  Riever.  At  the  sight  of  the 
latter  Pen  saw  red.  Hideous  little  creature  lunching 
on  his  fine  yacht  while  his  dollars  sent  men  into  the 
woods  to  murder!  And  now  to  come  strutting  ashore 
for  an  afternoon  stroll  with  his  expensive  cigar  cocked 
between  his  lips!  How  dared  he  present  himself  to 
her!  Her  impulse  was  to  project  herself  down  off  the 
porch  and  tell  him!  But  a  last  strand  of  prudence 
held.  She  went  to  her  room  instead. 

There  she  struggled  with  her  feelings.  Five  o'clock  I 
Faint  though  it  might  be,  there  was  a  real  chance  that 
Don  had  escaped.  She  must  therefore  go  on  fighting 
for  him.  And  in  order  to  fight  for  him  effectually  she 
must  maintain  some  sort  of  relations  with  his  loath- 
some enemy. 

There  was  a  knock  on  her  door,  and  her  father  said 
timidly:  "Mr.  Riever  is  down  stairs,  my  dear." 

Pen  answered  composedly:  "Very  well.  I'll  be 
down  directly." 

Pendleton  was  delighted.  "Thank  you,  daughter," 
he  purred. 

It  induced  a  fresh  access  of  anger  in  Pen.  He  had 
nothing  to  thank  her  for! 

Pendleton  pattered  happily  down-stairs.  Pen  washed 
and  dressed,  never  ceasing  to  admonish  herself,  and 
in  the  end  achieved  a  fair  measure  of  self-command, 
though  her  nerves  were  in  bad  shape. 

Riever  was  waiting  with  a  certain  air  of  bravado. 
Only  an  involuntary  roll  to  his  eyes  betrayed  the  dark 


Days  of  Suspense  227 

passions  that  ate  him.  She  greeted  him  calmly.  He 
looked  secretly  relieved. 

"I  scarcely  expected  to  see  you,"  he  said  smoothly. 
"I  just  came  to  enquire  how  you  are." 

"I'm  all  right,"  said  Pen.  ' 

"And  to  express  my  indignation  at  what  happened 
last  night.  Delehanty  certainly  goes  beyond  all 
bounds !  When  I  get  back  to  New  York  I  shall  talk 
to  the  Commissioner  about  it!" 

"Oh,  the  man  must  do  his  work,"  said  Pen.  "Surely, 
he  doesn't  expect  me  to  be  taken  in  by  this  palaver  1" 
she  thought. 

"He's  supposed  to  exercise  some  discretion  .  .  », 
You're  really  all  right  again?" 

"Quite  all  right." 

"I'm  so  glad!" 

It  came  to  her  that  he  didn't  expect  her  to  be  taken 
in.  He  was  satisfied  if  she  would  only  appear  to  be 
taken  in.  For  different  reasons  he  was  just  as  anxious 
to  maintain  relations  as  she  was.  He  just  wanted 
everything  unpleasant  covered  up.  That  was  the 
spoiled  child  of  it.  Pen  thought:  "I  believe  he'd 
actually  marry  me  without  inquiring  into  my  feelings." 
Well,  it  made  it  easier  for  her. 

Pendleton  made  some  transparent  excuse  to  leave 
the  room.  Riever's  shifty  eyes  gave  a  roll  of  terror, 
thinking  that  perhaps  Pen  might  now  insist  on  dragging 
the  truth  into  the  light. 

Pen  however  only  said:  "I'm  surprised  to  see  you 
on  foot  this  afternoon." 

His  face  turned  smug  again.     "I  like  walking,"  he 


228  Ramshackle  House 

said.     "It's  my  ridiculous  people  that  insist  on  having 
me  carried  every  step." 

"Do  you  walk  much  in  New  York?"  asked  Pen. 

He  was  flattered  by  her  interest.  "Yes,  very  much," 
he  said. 

"But  I  forget,  you  don't  live  in  the  city,  do  you?" 

"Sometimes." 

"Have  you  a  home  there,  too?" 

"Well,  not  exactly  a  home,  but  a  very  pleasant  little 
lodging." 

"Ah,  an  apartment." 

"No,  I  detest  apartments.  One  always  feels  as  if 
the  hall  servants  were  spying  on  your  comings  and  go- 
ings." 

"You  stay  at  your  club  then?" 

"No,  clubs  are  all  very  well  in  their  way,  but  I'm 
not  a  clubby  person.  I  like  to  spread  about  among 
my  own  things.  In  a  club  too,  the  servants  are  always 
under  your  feet.  In  New  York  I  like  to  get  away 
from  servants  altogether.  I  am  not  so  dependent  on 
them  as  you  seem  to  think." 

'  Pen's  heart  began  to  beat  a  little  thickly.  "And 
have  you  such  a  place?"  she  asked  with  interest.  Ap- 
parently they  were  back  just  where  they  had  been  be- 
fore the  violent  scene  of  the  previous  night. 

"Yes." 

"Do  tell  me  about  it." 

"It's  a  quaint  little  house  in  an  unfashionable 
neighborhood.  It  stands  in  the  name  of  my  valet. 
The  beauty  of  it  is  none  of  my  neighbors  know  me  and 
I  can  go  and  come  as  I  please.  It's  a  petit  tnaison  in 
the  French  style,  a  little  entresol  below,  overhead  three 


Days  of  Suspense  229 

tall  windows  lighting  the  salon,  then  a  receding  attic, 
and  that's  all.  I  don't  suppose  there's  another  house 
like  it  in  town." 

"And  the  inside?"  said  Pen. 

"A  salle  a  manger  on  the  ground  floor  looking  out 
on  a  little  formal  garden  at  the  back.  On  the  main 
floor  the  salon  in  front  and  a  bedroom  in  the  rear. 
In  the  attic,  servants  rooms.  Just  a  little  house  for 
one.  .  .  .  Or  two,"  he  added  with  a  sidelong  glance. 

"How  interesting!"  said  Pen.     "I'd  like  to  see  it." 

"I  hope  you  will  some  day." 

"In  what  part  of  the  town  is  it?"  asked  Pen  casually. 

"On  Thirty-Ninth  Street  east  of  Lexington." 

Pen  lowered  her  eyes  to  hide  the  glint  of  satisfac- 
tion in  them.  "This  will  help  Blanche,"  she  thought. 
"I'll  write  it  to-night." 

Presently  he  rose  to  go.  "Tell  me  you  will,"  he 
said. 

"Will  what?"  murmured  Pen. 

"Come  to  see  my  little  house  some  day?" 

"Nothing  is  impossible,"  said  Pen  turning  away  her 
head.  If  he  chose  to  read  coquetry  in  the  action,  that 
was  his  look-out. 

He  held  her  hand  loverly-wise  for  a  long  moment, 
Pen  steeling  herself  not  to  shudder.  Then  he  left  the 
room. 

Pen  began  to  laugh  but  there  was  no  sound  of  mirth 
in  it.  She  began  to  laugh  and  she  could  not  stop  again. 
The  tears  ran  down  her  face  and  her  whole  body  was 
shaken  with  tearing  sobs.  She  ran  to  her  room.  She 
was  horribly  unstrung.  It  was  long  before  she  could 
get  hold  of  herself  again. 


230  Ramshackle  House 

The  collapse  eased  the  strain  on  her  nerves.  She 
came  down-stairs  and  was  able  to  resume  her  usual 
round  of  tasks.  Time  was  passing,  and  still  no  bad 
news  had  been  received.  Hope  grew  stronger.  Finally 
word  was  brought  down  the  road  that  the  search  party 
had  joined  forces  with  the  line  of  guards  drawn  across 
the  Neck,  and  Don  Counsell  had  not  been  taken.  Pen 
was  able  to  face  the  night  unafraid. 

She  presently  learned  that  Delehanty  had  formed 
his  men  into  several  camps  for  the  night.  The  auto- 
mobile was  kept  busy  running  up  the  road  with  supplies 
for  them.  At  the  same  time  he  was  preparing  to  have 
the  road  well  patrolled  along  its  whole  course  through 
the  woods.  After  dark  a  fugitive  could  not  travel  any 
distance  except  by  the  road. 

The  night  came  on  muggy  and  still  and  Pen  was 
attacked  by  a  fresh  anxiety.  For  clouds  of  mosquitoes 
arose.  She  pictured  Don  fainting  with  hunger  and 
thirst,  and  unable  even  to  make  a  smudge  for  fear  of 
betraying  himself,  vainly  attempting  to  protect  him- 
self from  the  insects. 

She  had  a  wild  hope  that  he  might  be  driven  back  to 
her.  When  the  house  had  been  searched  they  had 
found  the  open  cellar  door,  and  in  the  morning  De- 
lehanty had  sent  a  man  to  shut  the  doors  and  screw 
them  down.  Before  she  went  to  bed  Pen  took  lantern 
and  screw  driver  and  satisfying  herself  that  she  was 
not  watched  at  the  moment,  knelt  behind  the  bushes 
and  opened  the  doors.  She  also  left  the  way  open 
for  Don  to  return  to  her  room  by  the  route  that  he 
knew  of. 

She  went  to  'bed  praying  that  she  might  awaken  to 


Days  of  Suspense  231 

find  him  kneeling  on  the  floor  beside  her.  She  did 
sleep  for  awhile,  for  Nature  must  have  her  due,  but 
when  she  awoke  she  was  still  alone. 

When  she  came  down-stairs  in  the  morning  she 
heard  a  new  sound  that  froze  her  soul,  the  deep  bay 
of  hounds.  Theodo'  came  into  the  kitchen,  his  eyes 
rolling  wildly  in  an  ashy  face,  to  say  that  a  couple 
of  "man-huntin'  dawgs"  had  been  brought  over  from 
the  Eastern  shore  to  be  put  on  Counsell's  tracks. 
These  mythical  creatures  filled  the  negro  with  an  ex- 
tremity of  terror.  Nothing  would  tempt  him  out  of 
doors  again.  Meanwhile  Pen's  collie,  Doug,  locked  up 
in  the  barn,  hearing  these  trespassers  on  his  preserve, 
and  he  unable  to  get  at  them,  went  frantic  with  rage. 

The  bloodhounds  were  taken  to  the  spot  in  the 
ttoods  where  Don's  cache  had  been  discovered,  and 
were  given  the  scent  from  Don's  clothes.  They  picked 
up  his  tracks  without  difficulty  and  came  back  over  the 
fields,  giving  tongue  straight  to  the  cellar  door. 
Delehanty  finding  it  unlocked  again,  searched  the  house 
once  more.  The  dogs  were  led  around  the  house.  Pen 
observing  from  within,  saw  that  they  picked  up  the 
trail  again  outside  the  kitchen  window.  So  Don  had 
gone  out  that  way.  However  they  were  soon  confused 
amidst  the  maze  of  tracks  that  tramped  down  the  house 
grounds  in  every  direction.  Again  and  again  their 
guardians  led  them  over  the  ground  with  no  better 
success. 

Meanwhile,  Delehanty  having  made  a  new  dispo- 
sition of  his  forces,  the  search  in  the  woods  was  re- 
sumed. He  had  more  men  at  his  disposal  on  this  day, 
and  a  second  line  of  guards  was  drawn  across  tbe 


232  Ramshackle  House 

Neck  higher  up.  Additional  detectives  arrived  from 
New  York  and  Baltimore,  and  these  were  dispatched 
by  horse  and  motor  to  search  every  cabin  within  miles. 
At  the  same  time  motor-boats  were  patrolling  all  the 
adjacent  shores,  so  that  if  the  fugitive  was  forced  out 
on  the  beach  at  any  point  he  would  instantly  be  sighted. 

Notwithstanding  these  measures  the  second  day 
passed  like  the  first  with  neither  sight  nor  sound  of  the 
fugitive.  It  was  believed  that  he  was  still  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, because  the  bloodhounds  though  they  were 
led  far  and  wide  through  the  woods  and  up  the  road> 
had  discovered  no  tracks  leading  away  from  Broome's 
Point. 

When  the  morning  of  the  third  day  broke  Pen  had 
reached  the  point  of  desperation  again.  Not  for  a 
moment  all  night  had  she  closed  her  eyes.  She  was 
now  convinced  that  Don  was  lying  exhausted  and  starv- 
ing in  some  hidden  spot  in  the  woods.  Probably  no 
longer  even  able  to  give  himself  up.  For  she  was 
sure  he  would  not  willingly  perish  without  a  fight  to 
clear  his  name.  When  she  first  came  out  of  the  house 
the  sight  of  a  pair  of  buzzards  circling  high  against 
the  blue,  turned  her  faint  and  sick. 

To  spend  another  day  of  inaction  was  unthinkable. 
Madness  lay  that  way.  There  was  no  longer  any  ques- 
tion of  helping  him  to  escape.  If  he  was  anywhere 
near  he  must  be  found,  whatever  might  come  of  it. 
In  her  extremity  Pen  went  to  Delehanty  to  tell  him  she 
was  going  to  take  part  in  the  search. 

The  detective  was  considerably  taken  aback.  He 
pushed  out  his  lower  lip  and  glowered  at  Pen.  "What's 
the  idea?"  he  demanded. 


Days  of  Suspense  233 

"I  want  him  found." 

"It  isn't  so  long  ago  since  you  wanted  to  lose  him." 

Pen  shrugged. 

"Have  you  any  information?"  he  demanded. 

"No.     But  I  know  these  woods." 

"We  all  know  them  now,"  said  Delehanty  dryly. 
He  considered  for  a  moment.  "Come  back  in  half  an 
hour  and  I'll  talk  to  you,"  he  said  brusquely. 

Pen  supposed  that  he  wanted  to  consult  with  Riever. 
She  was  in  no  humor  to  wait. 

"You  forget  I  don't  have  to  have  your  permission 
to  search  my  own  place,"  she  said.  "I  offer  to  work 
with  you.  If  you  don't  want  me  to  I'll  go  ahead  alone." 
She  turned  to  leave. 

"Hold  on  a  minute !"  said  the  detective,  "you  satisfy 
me  that  you're  on  the  square  with  me,  and  I'll  work 
with  you  fast  enough." 

Pen  was  able  to  tell  him  the  truth — without  telling 
him  the  whole  truth.  "It's  very  simple,"  she  said.  "I 
don't  want  him  to  starve  on  the  place,  that's  all." 

"Humph!  You've  lost  touch  with  him,  eh?"  said 
Delehanty. 

Pen  was  silent.  It  was  of  little  moment  to  her  what 
they  thought  so  they  did  not  know  anything. 

"What's  your  plan?"  asked  Delehanty. 

"For  one  thing,"  said  Pen,  "the  fields  have  never 
been  searched.  I  see  you  send  your  men  up  the  road 
every  morning.  There  are  hollows  in  the  fields  where 
a  man  could  lie  concealed.  Some  of  the  fields  are 
growing  up  with  young  pine  that  would  afford  cover." 

Delehanty  looked  at  her  with  unwilling  respect. 
"Anything  else?"  he  asked. 


234  Ramshackle  House 

"If  he's  in  the  woods  when  he  heard  the  searchers 
approach  how  easy  it  would  be  to  climb  a  tree  until 
they  had  passed." 

"Are  you  going  to  search  every  tree  in  the  woods?" 
he  asked  sarcastically. 

"No,"  said  Pen. 

"Will  you  take  a  couple  of  my  men  along  with  you?" 

"No." 

Delehanty  scowled  darkly. 

"I  shall  call  him  as  I  go,"  said  Pen.  "If  he  saw  or 
heard  others  with  me  he  wouldn't  be  so  likely  to  an- 
swer." 

"Suppose  you  find  him  and  he  refuses  to  give  himself 
up?" 

"After  three  days  without  food  he'd  hardly  be  in  a 
position  to  resist." 

"Would  you  undertake  to  bring  him  in?" 

"You  can  lend  me  a  revolver  if  you  want.  I  have 
none." 

"Not  on  your  life!"  sneered  Delehanty. 

Pen  shrugged.  She  had  only  mentioned  the  revolver 
as  a  bit  of  stage  business  anyway. 

"Go  and  find  him  if  you  want,"  said  Delehanty, 
"but  excuse  me  from  taking  any  chances  of  having  my 
gun  slipped  to  him." 

Pen  went  back  to  the  house  and  made  up  a  packet 
of  sandwiches.  As  she  was  setting  out  the  second  time 
she  ran  into  Riever  coming  in  by  the  drive.  He  had 
evidently  been  with  Delehanty,  and  under  his  forced 
air  of  politeness  an  extraordinary  conflict  of  feelings 
was  suggested;  hope,  distrust  and  a  gnawing  curiosity. 
He  would  not  speak  of  what  was  in  his  mind,  of  course. 


Days  of  Suspense  235 

"Where  are  you  setting  out  for  so  busily?"  he  asked 
with  a  false  air  of  blitheness. 

Pen  was  blunt  enough.  "I  believe  this  man  is  starv- 
ing somewhere  on  the  place,  and  I'm  going  to  find 
him  if  I  can." 

Riever  put  on  a  look  of  gladness  and  delight.  The 
guiding  rule  of  his  kind  is  that  by  assuming  a  thing 
to  be  so  you  make  it  so.  He  therefore  assumed  that 
Pen  had  come  over  to  his  side,  that  the  millions  had 
won  out,  that  he  and  she  were -now  one  in  sympathy. 
It  need  hardly  be  mentioned  though,  that  his  eye  still 
rolled  with  a  hideous  doubt. 

"Oh,  that's  fine  of  you!"  he  said  .  .  .  "But  it's 
dangerous!" 

"He  wouldn't  hurt  me,"  said  Pen. 

Riever  ground  his  teeth  secretly.  "How  can  you 
be  sure?"  he  said  with  a  great  air  of  solicitude. 

"Because  I  helped  him  in  -the  beginning.  I  fed 
him." 

"But  you've  thought  better  of  it  now?"  murmured 
Riever. 

"I'm  going  to  find  him  if  I  can." 

"I  believe  you're  out  after  the  reward!"  Riever 
said,  with  a  ghastly  sort  of  facetiousness. 

Pen  caught  at  the  suggestion.  'If  she  were  obliged 
to  bring  Don  in,  the  money  might  make  all  the  dif- 
ference to  them.  "Well,  why  not?"  she  said.  "I 
could  use  the  money  as  well  as  anybody." 

There  was  a  quality  of  eagerness  in  her  voice  that 
could  hardly  have  been  feigned.  For  the  moment  it 
lulled  his  doubts.  "There's  nobody  I'd  rather  pay  it 
to,"  he  said  grinning. 


236  Ramshackle  House 

"You  mean  that?"  said  Pen.  "If  I  give  him  up  to 
you,  will  you  pay  me  the  reward?" 

"If  you  give  him  up  to  me  I'll  double  it!"  he  said 
meaningly. 

"All  right  I"  said  Pen.  "If  I'm  successful  to-day,  I'll 
hold  you  to  that."  She  made  to  walk  on. 

Riever's  face  was  full  of  triumph,  but  there  was  still 
a  fear  too,  another  sort  of  fear.  "Wait  a  minute," 
he  said.  "Suppose  you  can't  handle  him?" 

"I  have  no  fear  of  that,"  said  Pen. 

He  slipped  his  hand  in  his  side  pocket.  "Here," 
he  said,  "take  this."  He  produced  an  automatic  pistol. 
"Do  you  know  how  to  use  it?" 

She  shook  her  head.     He  explained  the  mechanism. 

"Thanks,"  she  said  putting  it  inside  her  dress,  and 
walked  on. 

He  strutted  after  her  as  far  as  the  gates,  and  stood 
there  watching.  She  turned  into  the  path  behind  the 
cottage,  and  followed  it  into  the  woods.  Her  idea  in 
making  the  little  temple  her  starting-point  was  that 
Don  in  need  of  succor,  might  haunt  the  paths  they 
had  followed  together. 

The  sun  was  looking  straight  into  the  little  glade 
through  the  side  that  opened  above  the  pond,  filling 
the  place  with  a  rich  yellow  light.  Between  the 
shadows  of  the  pillars  a  broad  beam  lay  athwart  the 
inscription  of  the  gravestone,  picking  out  the  curly 
flourishes  of  the  letters  that  had  been  sculped  with 
such  loving  care.  Pen  was  indifferent  now  to  her 
shadowy  brother  who  lay  under  the  stone.  She  had 
not  remembered  him  in  many  days.  Her  thoughts  were 
filled  by  a  man  of  flesh  and  blood. 


Days  of  Suspense  237 

"Don  I  Don  I"  she  spoke  softly,  not  expecting  any 
answer  there,  and  not  getting  any. 

She  let  herself  down  the  bank  to  the  spring  around 
at  the  left  which  welled  between  the  roots  of  a  superb 
white  oak  that  the  axe  had  spared.  For  a  tree  which 
guards  a  spring  is  sacred  even  to  a  timber  scout.  Pen 
had  hopes  of  the  spring  because  it  was  one  of  the  only 
two  places  that  Don  knew  of  where  fresh  water  was  to 
be  obtained.  She  searched  carefully  about  it  but  was 
not  rewarded  by  finding  any  tracks.  She  made  a  wider 
circuit  of  the  spot  but  could  not  see  that  the  under- 
brush had  been  disturbed. 

She  forced  her  way  slowly  through  the  tangle  of 
thorny  creepers  and  thickly-springing  sassafras  around 
the  pond  to  the  old  wood  road.  It  curved  away 
secretly  into  the  gloom;  old,  undisturbed,  overgrown; 
Nature  had  painted  in  this  ancient  blemish.  Years  ago 
the  bed  of  the  road  had  been  packed  so  hard  that  even 
yet  nothing  would  take  root  there  except  a  mossy 
growth  like  fur  underfoot.  But  at  either  side  bushes 
had  taken  advantage  of  the  free  light  to  spring  up 
thickly.  Now  for  the  most  part  they  met  overhead, 
though  there  were  places  where  the  sun  splashed 
through. 

Pen  walked  slowly,  pausing  often  to  softly  call  Don's 
name.  Nothing  answered  her  but  bird  sounds,  and  the 
soft  chattering  of  leaves  in  the  high  sunlight.  No 
breath  stirred  down  below.  She  made  wide  detours 
through  secondary  roads,  mere  cuts  through  the  woods 
that  only  a  practised  eye  could  follow  now. 

It  was  noon  when  she  came  out  at  the  edge  of  the 
fields.  She  sat  down  under  the  fence  to  rest,  and, 


238  Ramshackle  House 

from  a  sense  of  duty,  to  eat  something.  Afterwards 
she  struck  clear  across  the  rough,  neglected,  cleared 
land  to  the  woods  on  the  other  side,  then  back  again, 
shaping  a  course  that  took  her  through  every  hollow. 
Her  experience  with  sheep  had  taught  her  the  exact 
lay  of  the  peninsula,  how  each  depression  gradually 
deepened  into  a  gully,  running  off  to  some  branch  on 
one  side  or  the  other.  But  nowhere  did  she  find  what 
she  was  looking  for. 

She  spent  several  hours  searching  the  banks  of  the 
little  stream  that  meandered  through  the  woods  to 
the  east  of  the  fields.  That  was  where  she  had  sent 
him  to  make  his  camp  that  night.  She  found  the  site 
of  his  camp,  but  no  evidences  that  he  had  revisited  it. 
There  were  plenty  of  tracks  in  the  mud  of  the  stream, 
for  the  searchers  had  passed  and  re-passed  this  way, 
but  no  voice  answered  her  soft  calls. 

Finally  she  struck  across  the  corner  of  the  farthest 
field,  making  for  the  path  which  went  down  through 
the  woods  to  the  arm  of  Back  creek,  that  path  they 
had  followed  on  another  night,  a  night  of  happiness. 
She  thought  of  the  old  skiff  drawn  up  on  top  of  the 
bank,  and  had  a  wild  hope  that  he  might  have  launched 
it  and  succeeded  in  making  his  way  down  the  arm  and 
across  the  main  creek  to  the  mainland.  True,  the  skiff 
was  leaky  and  rotten,  but  a  desperate  man  might  make 
it  serve  for  a  short  voyage.  She  ran  the  last  part  of 
the  way. 

The  skiff  was  there,  just  as  before  1  She  dropped 
down  upon  it,  weary  of  body  and  despairing  of  heart, 
and  burst  into  tears. 

"Don!   Don!   Don!"  she  called  for  the  last  time. 


Days  of  Suspense  239 

A  green  heron  mocked  her  with  its  discordant  croak. 

The  sun  was  low,  and  there  could  be  no  further 
searching  that  day.  Pen  made  her  heavy  way  back 
through  the  woods,  and  across  the  wide  field.  As  she 
walked  a  merciful  apathy  descended  on  her.  She  could 
suffer  no  more.  Imaginary  pictures  of  Don  starving 
in  the  woods  no  longer  rose  before  her  mind's  eye.  She 
was  conscious  only  of  a  ghastly  vacuum  inside  her. 
Within  it  a  little  thought  stirred  like  a  snake :  "This 
can't  go  on !  If  I  don't  hear  in  two  or  three  days  more 
.  .  ."  She  never  completed  the  thought,  but  her  soul 
was  aware  of  her  intention. 

As  she  was  letting  down  the  bars  that  admitted  her 
to  the  road,  a  squad  of  men  straggled  by,  searchers 
homeward  bound.  Pen  hung  back  to  let  them  pass. 
The  business  was  in  the  nature  of  a  lark  to  them; 
young  men  relieved  for  the  time  being  from  the  tedium 
of  their  usual  lives,  they  were  talking  loud,  laughing, 
jostling  each  other  in  the  road.  They  stared  at  Pen 
as  unabashed  as  animals,  and  Pen  busied  herself  with 
the  bars.  Nevertheless  she  was  aware  that  one  of 
them  did  not  stare  at  her.  She  looked  at  him,  and 
was  struck  first,  by  his  curiously  self-conscious  air.  She 
looked  afresh,  rubbed  her  eyes  so  to  speak,  and  her 
heart  stood  still. 

It  was  Don. 

True,  his  chin  was  covered  with  a  four  days'  growth 
of  reddish  stubble,  his  bare  head  was  touselled  and  un- 
brushed,  he  walked  with  exactly  the  same  shambling 
slouch  as  the  others.  But  it  was  Don.  He  had  passed 
her,  but  the  line  of  his  cheek  was  enough,  and  the  mus- 
cular back  under  the  cotton  shirt.  She  recognized  the 


240  Ramshackle  House 

old  garments  she  had  herself  carried  to  him.  Far  from 
being  the  starving  wreck  she  had  pictured,  his  cheek 
was  full  and  ruddy,  his  whole  body  notwithstanding  the 
shamble  he  affected,  full  of  spring.  For  an  instant 
she  thought  they  had  taken  him.  But  that  was  mani- 
festly ridiculous.  He  was  skylarking  with  the  rest. 
His  whole  bearing  was  that  of  a  leader  amongst  them. 

Pen  leaned  against  the  fence  post.  A  welter  of 
emotions  seemed  to  shatter  her;  joy,  incredulity,  terror 
that  her  wits  might  be  wandering,  anger  at  his  care- 
less air  of  well-being. 

Bye  and  bye  she  put  up  the  bars  mechanically,  and 
started  to  walk  along  the  road  with  a  dazed  air.  She 
could  not  take  in  what  had  happened.  Dusk  was  fall- 
ing. In  a  couple  of  hundred  yards  a  figure  stepped 
out  from  the  shadow  of  the  bordering  growth. 

"Pen!"   it  whispered. 

Her  first  reaction  was  to  a  shaking  anger.  She  was 
a  little  beside  herself.  Stamping  her  foot  in  the  road 
she  cried  in  a  soft,  strained  voice:  "You  Donl  Cutting 
up  like  a  school-boy  in  the  road !  Is  that  all  you  have 
on  your  mind !" 

He  fell  back  a  step  in  surprise.  Then  he  laughed 
softly  like  the  boy  she  accused  him  of  being.  "But 
Pen  .  .  .  aren't  you  glad?" 

"Yes,  laugh!  do!"  she  said  bitterly.  "It's  nothing 
to  you  what  I've  been  through  these  last  three  days  and 
nights!" 

"I  told  you  not  to  worry,"  he  said  sheepishly. 

"Told  me  not  to  worry !    What  do  you  think  I  am?" 

"There  was  no  way  in  which  I  could  let  you  hear 


Days  of  Suspense  241 

from  me.  I  thought  you'd  understand  everything  was 
all  right." 

"You  didn't  care  I    You  didn't  care !" 

He  moved  close  to  her.  "Pen  dear,  don't  quarrel 
with  me !  We  have  only  a  moment.  Even  this  is 
risky.  There  are  more  men  coming  along  the  road." 

She  attempted  to  push  him  away.  "Don't  touch 
me!  You're  heartless  and  unfeeling!" 

Even  as  she  said  it  she  began  to  sob.  She  swayed 
on  her  feet,  and  Don  flung  an  arm  about  her.  She 
clung  to  him  piteously. 

"Oh  my  darling!  my  darling!  .  .  .  Thank  God!  I 
have  you  I  ...  Don't  pay  any  attention  to  what  I  say. 
I  have  suffered  so.  I  was  just  at  the  end  of  my  string. 
If  I  had  not  found  you  soon  I  ...  I  ..." 

"Hush,  dearest!"  he  murmured,  sobered  and  re- 
morseful. "You  mustn't  say  such  things.  I  can't 
bear  it!  ...  It's  true  I  never  thought.  I  had  such 
confidence  in  your  strength." 

"I  thought  you  were  starving  in  the  woods.  I 
couldn't  eat  when  I  thought  you  had  nothing!  I 
couldn't  sleep,  seeing  you  lying  there." 

"Hush !  Hush  !"»he  soothed  her.  "Everything  is  all 
right  now.  Pull  yourself  together,  dearest.  There 
are  stragglers  all  along  the  road." 

Indeed  they  could  now  hear  footfalls  coming  along 
behind  them.  They  started  to  walk  too,  Don  strain- 
ing Pen  hard  against  his  side.  Everybody  was 
traveling  the  same  way.  Gradually  Pen's  breast 
quieted  down. 

"What  does  it  mean?"  she  asked. 

"It  means  I'm  one  of  the  searchers  for  Don  Coun- 


242  Ramshackle  House 

sell,"  he  said  with  a  chuckle.  "Only  place  they'd 
never  think  of  looking  for  me." 

She  looked  at  him  a  little  aghast. 

"And  I've  made  good  in  the  job,  too,"  he  went  on. 
"I'm  considered  quite  a  valuable  man.  Delehanty  has 
put  me  in  charge  of  a  squad." 

"Delehanty  I"  she  gasped.  "Do  you  mean  you  have 
spoken  to  him?" 

"Why  not?  He  doesn't  know  Don  Counsell  by 
sight.  None  of  his  men  do.  The  only  one  who  knows 
me  is  Riever,  and  I  take  damn  good  care  to  keep  out 
of  his  way.  Luckily  it's  easy.  He  doesn't  bother 
with  the  rough  necks.  And  you  can  always  see  him 
coming  a  long  way  off  by  his  gang." 

"How  did  it  come  about?"  she  asked. 

"Most  natural  thing  in  the  world.  My  way  is  dif- 
ferent from  yours.  You  plan  everything  out,  and  I 
leave  it  to  the  inspiration  of  the  moment.  When  I 
tried  to  get  out  by  the  cellar  that  night  I  heard  a 
man  down  there.  They  had  one  out  on  the  kitchen 
porch,  too.  So  I  took  the  screen  out  of  the  window 
on  the  other  side,  and  dropped  to  the  ground  and  hid 
in  the  shrubbery.  I  gradually  made  my  way  down  to 
the  beach.  There  were  some  natives  camping  there, 
but  I  was  afraid  to  join  them  then,  so  I  kept  under 
cover  until  daylight.  In  the  morning  a  raft  of  new- 
comers arrived  from  all  over,  and  it  was  a  simple 
matter  to  mix  amongst  them.  They  didn't  all  know 
each  other." 

"But  you  speak  differently  from  these  people,"  said 
Pen. 


Days  of  Suspense  243 

"Oh,  I  kept  my  mouth  shut  as  much  as  possible.  I 
gave  out  that  I  was  Frank  Jones  from  New  Jersey, 
see?  That  accounted  for  my  Northern  speech.  I 
said  I  was  off  a  coasting  schooner.  Meanwhile  I've 
been  practising  their  lingo,  and  I  can  already  speak 
Mar'land  at  least  well  enough  to  deceive  Delehanty 
and  the  other  Northerners.  Doggone  it  honey  Ah 
reckon  Ah  kin  tawkf  'Deed,  can  I!  Gemmen,  it's 
the  trewth!" 

Pen  laughed  down  his  neck. 

"Every  day  that  passes  makes  my  position  more 
secure,"  he  said.  "I'm  becoming  known.  At  least 
Frank  Jones  is.  This  crop  of  saw-tooth  is  a  wonder- 
ful disguise." 

He  softly  rubbed  his  chin  against  her  cheek.  Pen 
liked  it. 

There  came  a  hail  from  down  the  road  ahead. 
"Hey,  Jones!" 

They  moved  apart.  Don  answered:  "Coming!" 
To  Pen  he  said  breathlessly:  "How  can  we  meet? 
.  .  .  Oh  woman,  if  you  knew  how  I  was  hungering 
for  you  day  and  night!" 

"No!  No!"  said  Pen.  "Everything's  going  so  well. 
We  mustn't  take  risks  .  .  .  But  we  ought  to  have 
some  way  of  communicating." 

"Name  it  quick!" 

She  considered  swiftly.  ".  .  .  Do  you  know  my 
fattening-coop  under  the  tree  back  of  the  kitchen?" 

"I  can  find  it." 

"There's  a  little  water-pan  inside  it.  Look  under 
that  for  a  letter." 


244  Ramshackle  House 

"All  right,"  he  laughed.  "If  I'm  pinched  for  swip- 
ing chickens  you'll  have  to  clear  me !" 

He  ran  down  the  road.  Pen  followed  at  a  sober 
pace — still  a  little  dazed* 


CHAPTER  XI 

PEN'S    HAND    IS    FORCED 

IT  was  a  justly  aggrieved  father  that  Pen  found 
awaiting  her  in  the  dining-room. 

"Half-past  eight!"  he  said.  "Where  on  earth  have 
you  been  I" 

Pen  was  quiet  and  starry-eyed  with  happiness.  It 
didn't  matter  much  to  her  what  she  said.  But  she 
rather  wished  to  avoid  a  scene.  She  juggled  with  the 
truth  a  little. 

"Mr.  Delehanty  wanted  me  to  help  him  with  the 
search." 

"Delehanty!  .  .  .  Wanted  you!"  he  said  amazed. 
It  was  too  much  for  him. 

"And  Mr.  Riever,"  Pen  added  as  an  afterthought. 

The  magic  name  mollified  him  a  little.  "Hum! 
Ha!  .  . ..  Well,  if  Riever  knew  .  .  .  What  suddenly 
started  you  off  on  this  tack?" 

"I  want  this  business  over  with!" 

"I  confess  I  fail  to  understand  you!"  he  said 
severely  .  .  .  "What  help  could  you  give  them  any- 
way?" 

"I  know  the  place  so  well!" 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you  have  been  searching  the 
woods  .  .  .  with  all  these  strangers  about?" 

"I  had  only  to  raise  my  voice  to  bring  a  dozen  to  my 
aid  .  .  .  Besides,  Mr.  Riever  lent  me  a  revolver." 


246  Ramshackle  House 

"Oh  1  ...  Well  you  might  have  taken  your  father 
into  your  confidence  .  .  .  Did  you  find  anything?" 

"No." 

A  more  perspicacious  man  might  have  remarked 
the  little  catch  of  joy  with  which  she  said  it,  but  never 
Pendleton.  "The  supper  is  cold,"  he  said  fretfully. 
"Aunt  Maria's  gone  home." 

"Never  mind,"  said  Pen.  Out  of  the  riches  in  her 
breast  she  could  spare  affection  for  him,  the  dear,  try- 
ing child!  She  kissed  his  bald  spot.  "I'll  make  a  cup 
of  tea  for  myself." 

"I  got  the  mail  this  afternoon,"  he  grumbled. 
"There's  a  letter  for  you." 

"Eh?"  said  Pen  sharply. 

"On  your  plate.  I  never  saw  the  handwriting  be- 
fore." 

Pen  glided  swiftly  around  the  table.  "I  never  saw 
it  either,"  she  said.  Which  was  perfectly  true.  A 
scrawling,  half-formed  hand.-  The  post-mark  "New 
York"  told  her  all  that  she  needed  to  know. 

She  thrust  it  carelessly  in  her  belt  and  went  out  into 
the  kitchen.  Pendleton  looked  affronted.  He  was 
terribly  curious.  Pen  lit  the  oil  stove  and  put  the  kettle 
on.  Then  she  read  her  letter. 

"Dear  Miss: 

I'm  not  much  at  writing.  Please  excuse  mistakes. 
Well  Miss  Broome  I  guess  you  were  right,  all  right. 
Everything  bears  out  what  you  said.  I  and  the  fellows 
have  made  a  good  beginning,  but  we  haven't  cinched 
it  yet  by  a  good  deal.  Of  course  in  a  job  like  this  you 
got  to  be  absolutely  bomb-proof  before  you  put  your- 
self under  fire.  I  guess  you  get  me.  Just  at  present 


Pen's  Hand  is  Forced  247 

we're  stalled  for  the  lack  of  coin.  I've  raised  every 
nickel  I  could  amongst  the  fellows  and  it's  all  gone 
flooey.  And  not  a  job  stirring.  We  got  to  have  five 
hundred  quick.  A  thousand  would  be  better.  Bring 
it  up  yourself.  We  got  to  have  somebody  to  stop  at 
a  certain  swell  joint.  None  of  us  was  able  to  get  by 
with  it.  For  God's  sake  get  the  money,  if  you  have 
to  purloin  your  old  man's  sock.  Everything  depends 
on  your  turning  up  with  it  the  next  day  or  so.  No  need 
for  me  to  sign  this." 

A  few  minutes  later  Pendleton  entered  the  kitchen 
to  find  Pen  leaning  against  the  table  in  a  brown  study, 
the  open  letter  in  her  hand.  The  kettle  was  boiling 
unheeded. 

"Who's  your  letter  from?"  he  asked. 

"Oh  .  .  .  that!"  said  Pen  with  a  laugh.  She  was 
obliged  to  extemporize  quickly.  "Such  an  odd  thing! 
Do  you  remember  the  little  foundling  that  used  to  work 
for  the  Snellings  on  the  Island?  Something  has  led 
the  child  to  write  to  me." 

"Let's  see,"  he  said,  holding  out  his  hand. 

"I  can't,  Dad.  The  poor  little  thing  is  telling  me 
her  troubles." 

"Humph !"  snorted  Pendleton,  and  passed  on  out 
of  doors. 

Pen  carried  her  supper  into  the  dining-room.  She 
sat,  abstractedly  stirring  her  cup,  and  munching  a 
sandwich,  while  the  same  phrase  ran  around  and 
around  in  her  head.  "Got  to  have  five  hundred,  a 
thousand  would  be  better  I"  Blanche  might  almost  as 
well  have  asked  her  for  a  million,  she  thought  sigh- 
ing. Bye  and  bye  Pendleton  having  finished  his  chores, 
came  in  again. 


248  Ramshackle  House 

"Sit  down  a  minute,  Dad,"  she  said.  "I  want  to 
talk  to  you." 

Anticipating  something  unpleasant,  he  dropped  into 
a  chair  grumbling. 

"This  business  has  about  finished  me  up,"  said  Pen. 
"I  must  get  away  for  awhile." 

"You're  looking  particularly  well  to  me,"  he  said. 

She  refused  to  be  drawn  off. 

"I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  you,"  he  went  on 
crossly.  "A  while  ago  you  were  all  for  helping  in  the 
search." 

"I  hoped  to  end  it,"  said  Pen.  "But  I  was  unsuc- 
cessful." 

Pendleton  scowled  sulkily  at  the  table.  "You  know 
what  I  want  you  to  do,"  he  muttered. 

"That  can  wait,"  said  Pen  cautiously. 

"You  may  not  get  the  chance,  later." 

"I  don't  know  that  I  have  the  chance  now." 

"Oh,  let's  talk  plainly  I"  Pendleton  burst  out,  but 
still  not  meeting  her  eye.  "This  is  no  time  for  false 
delicacy.  Anybody  could  see  that  Riever  wants  you. 
He's  given  me  to  understand  in  the  broadest  way  that 
you  have  only  to  say  the  word.  Even  after  the  ex- 
traordinary way  you  have  acted.  You  still  have  a 
chance.  What  makes  you  hold  back?  You've  got  to 
marry  somebody.  Men  are  all  much  the  same.  Mar- 
riage is  no  bed  of  roses  at  the  bestl  .  .  .  Am  I  not 
your  father?  Would  I  be  advising  you  to  anything 
that  wasn't  for  your  good?  It's  a  wonderful  chancel 
a  wonderful  chance,  I  tell  you!  .  .  .  And  you  talk 
about  going  away!"  The  little  man  was  almost  ready 
to  weep. 


Pen's  Hand  is  Forced  249 

Pen  schooled  herself  to  patience.  "If  Mr.  Riever 
is  really  in  earnest  my  going  away  will  not  make  any 
difference  .  .  .  It's  said  to  be  a  very  good  move,"  she 
added  slyly. 

"Not  where  a  man  like  Riever  is  concerned!"  cried 
Pendleton.  "He's  accustomed  to  be  courted,  to  be 
deferred  to.  He'd  never  get  over  such  an  affront. 
He'd  pull  up  anchor  and  sail  away  never  to  return  1" 

Pen  thought :  "Ah,  if  he  would  I" 

"What  was  in  that  letter  you  got?"  demanded  Pen- 
dleton. "Has  that  got  anything  to  do  with  it?" 

Pen  was  startled.  She  saw,  however,  that  it  was 
merely  a  hit  in  the  dark.  He  had  no  real  suspicion. 
The  best  way  was  to  ignore  his  question  as  unworthy 
of  being  answered.  "Won't  you  give  me  the  money?" 
she  said. 

"Where  am  I  going  to  get  it." 

Pen  was  significantly  silent. 

"A  while  ago  you  would  not  touch  that  money  with 
a  poker !"  he  burst  out. 

"It  is  not  easy  to  ask  for  it,"  she  murmured. 

"How  much  do  you  want?" 

"Five  hundred  dollars!"  said  Pen  with  her  heart 
in  her  mouth. 

"Five  hundred  dollars!"  he  stormed.  "Five  hun- 
dred dollars !  Why  you  could  go  to  your  Cousin 
Laura  Lee's  and  back  for  twenty!" 

"Wherever  I  went  I  would  need  clothes,"  said  Pen. 

"I  offered  you  money  for  clothes,  and  you  scorned 
it!" 

"I'm  sorry  now.    I  have  thought  better  of  it." 

"Oh,  you  have,  have  you?    Well  permit  me  to  re- 


250  Ramshackle  House 

mind  you  that  the  clothes  were  to  wear  here,  and  not 
to  go  away  in!"  He  started  out  of  the  room  bluster- 
ing noisily  to  cover  his  retreat.  "Five  hundred  dol- 
lars! To  ruin  your  chances!  Never  heard  of  such 
folly!  Never  speak  to  me  of  this  again!  Five  hun- 
dred dollars!" 

He  kept  on  talking  right  up-stairs.  Pen  remained 
sitting  at  the  table  looking  at  her  empty  hands. 

She  sat  thinking  and  thinking;  stirring  the  tea  which 
had  long  ago  turned  cold.  The  only  possible  way  she 
had  of  raising  money  was  through  the  sale  of  her 
sheep.  She  had  considered  that  once  before.  Her 
father  would  try  to  prevent  her  of  course,  but  she 
might  drive  them  up  the  Neck  road  at  night  and  put 
them  on  the  steamboat  from  one  of  the  Bay  wharves. 
But  Delehanty's  men  were  watching  the  road  at  a 
dozen  points. 

In  her  perplexity  Pen  felt  a  great  longing  to  con- 
sult with  Don.  Two  heads  were  better  than  one,  she 
told  herself.  Perhaps  the  truth  was  she  just  wanted 
to  be  with  him.  She  was  thankful  she  had  made  an 
arrangement  to  communicate.  In  the  ordinary  course 
he  could  hardly  expect  a  letter  from  her  until  the  next 
day,  but  thinking  of  his  boyish  eagerness  it  seemed 
quite  possible  that  he  might  come  back  that  night  on 
the  chance  of  hearing  from  her.  At  any  rate  it  was 
worth  trying. 

She  got  a  scrap  of  paper  and  a  pencil,  and  wrote 
four  lines: 

"I  must  see  you.  I'll  put  on  an  old  dress  and  a  sun- 
bonnet  and  walk  on  the  beach  near  the  lighthouse  at 


Pen's  Hand  is  Forced  251 

eleven.  If  you  don't  get  this  to-night  I'll  come  to- 
morrow night." 

Pen  put  this  into  the  agreed  place,  and  returned  to 
the  house,  wondering  how  she  would  put  in  the  hour 
and  a  half  that  remained  before  eleven.  She  deter- 
mined to  watch  to  see  whether  he  came  for  the  note. 
So  she  went  up-stairs  rather  noisily,  and  came  down 
again  very  quietly,  carrying  with  her  what  she  needed 
for  her  disguise. 

She  took  up  her  position  on  a  chair  in  the  dark 
kitchen,  placed  against  the  wall  in  such  a  way  that  she 
could  look  obliquely  through  the  window  in  the  direc- 
tion of  her  chicken  coop.  The  moon  was  not  up  yet, 
and  it  was  pitch  dark  under  the  tree.  She  could  see 
nothing,  but  she  was  sure  no  one  could  visit  the  spot 
without  her  being  aware  of  it. 

And  after  all  she  dozed.  She  had  had  little  enough 
sleep  of  late,  and  now  that  the  most  pressing  weight 
was  lifted  from  her  breast,  the  night  laid  a  finger  on 
her  eyelids  without  her  being  aware  of  it.  The  katy- 
dids, the  crickets,  the  distant  murmur  of  the  waves 
on  the  Bay  shore  gradually  undermined  wakefulness. 
Her  head  swayed  against  the  wall. 

She  awakened,  scarcely  knowing  she  had  slept. 
Somebody  was  outside.  She  was  electrically  conscious 
of  it,  though  for  a  moment  she  could  hear  nothing. 
Then  a  soft,  masculine  chuckle  came  out  of  the  dark. 
There  was  more  than  one  evidently,  for  men  do  not 
as  a  rule  chuckle  when  alone.  A  voice  whispered. 

"Doggone,  if  it  ain't  a  coop,  fellas !  What  say  to 
a  nice  fat  pullet  for  breakfast?" 


252  Ramshackle  House 

It  suddenly  came  to  her  this  was  Don's  voice,  with 
his  exaggerated  Maryland  drawl.  Her  heart  beat  fast. 

Another  voice  answered:  "Watch  yourself,  Jones. 
Those  damn  birds  '11  raise  the  dead  if  you  lay  hand 
to  them!" 

"On'y  one  squawk  before  I  get  her  neck  wrung," 
laughed  Don.  "I  got  the  lay  of  the  land.  That  white- 
washed fence  yonder  marks  the  garden.  Run  down 
the  rows  to  the  next  fence  and  you're  safe  I" 

A  silence  followed.  Pen,  straining  her  ears  heard, 
or  imagined  that  she  heard  the  latch  softly  raised,  the 
door  opened,  and  the  little  pan  softly  moved  inside. 
Then  Don's  voice  again: 

"By  Golly!   It's  empty!" 

The  words  were  spoken  in  the  conventional  tones  of 
disappointment  but  Pen  and  none  but  Pen  could  hear 
the  thrilling  little  lift  in  his  voice.  She  was  assured 
that  the  note  was  tight  clasped  in  his  hands.  The 
voices  moved  away. 

Pen  cautiously  consulted  her  watch.  It  was  half- 
past  ten.  She  must  start  at  once  in  order  to  keep  her 
appointment,  for  she  must  take  a  roundabout  and  diffi- 
cult way.  Pendleton's  snores  were  resounding  through 
the  house,  and  in  the  back  hall  where  the  light  could 
not  betray  her  out-of-doors,  she  lit  a  little  lamp  and 
arrayed  herself.  She  had  a  black  cotton  servant's 
dress  that  had  been  designed  to  fit  a  more  ample  figure 
than  hers.  She  put  it  on  and  stuffed  it  out  with  old 
cotton  until  her  own  shape  was  altered  beyond  recog- 
nition. Drawing  her  hair  straight  back  from  her  face, 
she  twisted  it  into  a  tight  knot  behind,  and  pulled  the 


Pen's  Hand  is  Forced  253 

sunbonnet  over  her  head.  For  the  dark  it  was  a  suf- 
ficiently effective  disguise. 

It  was  still  very  dark  out  of  doors.  Slipping  out 
of  the  back  door,  she  made  her  way  to  the  old  paddock 
behind  the  house  grounds,  and  gaining  the  road  from 
here,  climbed  a  fence  on  the  other  side  and  struck 
across  the  little  triangular  field  for  the  woods.  It  was 
the  way  she  had  gone  once  before  to  meet  Don.  Forc- 
ing her  way  through  the  undergrowth  she  gained  her 
own  path  and  so  reached  the  little  temple.  From 
this  point  she  struck  out  a  line  that  would  bring  her 
out  on  the  Bay  shore.  The  sound  of  the  waves  guided 
her.  When  she  had  gone  a  little  way  she  began  to 
catch  glimpses  of  the  Broome's  Point  light  between 
the  tree  trunks,  and  that  gave  her  an  exact  course. 

But  this  part  of  the  woods  was  densely  grown  up, 
and  it  was  hard,  slow  going.  She  had  to  feel  her  way 
through  the  tangle,  and  the  thorns  scratched  her  hands 
and  tore  her  dress.  She  put  her  foot  into  unsuspected 
•holes  and  came  down  heavily.  It  was  only  a  couple 
of  hundred  yards,  but  she  could  progress  but  a  foot 
at  a  time.  It  seemed  as  if  an  age  passed  before  she 
slid  down  the  steep  bank  and  gained  the  sand.  From 
around  the  point  she  heard  six  bells  sounded  me- 
lodiously aboard  the  Alexandra,  and  broke  into  a  run. 
The  tide  was  falling,  and  there  was 'firm  hard  footing 
along  the  water's  edge. 

The  lighthouse  stood  on  its  spidery  stilts  only  a  hun- 
dred feet  or  so  off  the  beach.  As  she  came  close  Pen 
could  make  out  old  Weems  Locket  the  keeper,  stand- 
ing on  the  little  gallery  that  encircled  his  octagonal 
house,  with  a  companion.  She  slowed  down.  The  two 


254  Ramshackle  House 

were  leaning  on  the  rail  looking  out  across  the  Bay, 
smoking  cigars.  Even  if  they  had  looked  in  her  direc- 
tion they  could  scarcely  have  seen  her,  for  her  black 
dress  was  lost  against  the  bushes  that  bordered  the 
sand.  There  was  a  fresh  breeze  off  the  water  that 
swallowed  sounds.  The  first  narrow  edge  of  a  smoky, 
orange  moon  was  rising  out  of  the  Bay. 

Pen  breathed  more  freely  after  rounding  the  point. 
The  old  wharf  was  now  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in 
front  of  her.  The  natives  were  camped  on  the  beach 
on  both  sides  of  the  wharf,  and  as  she  approached  Pen 
could  see  the  fires  burning  low  in  front  of  the  tents, 
but  no  figures  stirring.  On  board  the  Alexandra  lights 
still  shone  from  the  deckhouse  windows. 

Pen,  not  daring  to  go  close  to  the  tents,  came  to  a 
stand  about  a  furlong  off.  There  was  no  sign  of  Don. 
But  presently  she  heard  somebody  coming  from  the 
other  direction,  the  way  she  had  herself  come,  some- 
one softly  whistling  a  tune.  Thinking  she  must  have 
passed  him  somehow,  she  turned  eagerly.  On  this 
side  of  the  point  the  rising  moon  was  hidden  behind 
the  intervening  high  ground.  A  figure  emerged  out 
of  the  murk  and  Pen  instantly  perceived  that  it  was 
not  Don.  It  was  too  late  to  escape  then. 

"A  skirt!"  exclaimed  a  rough,  young  voice,  sur- 
prised. "What  are  you  doing  out  so  late,  sister?" 
He  spread  out  his  arms  to  bar  her  way. 

"Let  me  by!"  murmured  Pen. 

"Wait  a  minute!  Wait  a  minute!  Let's  have  a 
squint  at  you." 

He  lit  a  match  with  his  thumb-nail.  Quick  as 
thought  Pen  blew  out  the  flame.  The  young  fellow 


Pen's  Hand  is  Forced  255 

laughed.  Pen  tried  to  dart  by  him.  He  flung  out  an 
arm  and  gathered  her  in.  She  struggled  in  silent 
desperation. 

"Young  and  souple  as  willow,  I  swear,"  laughed 
the  man.  "What  you  got  so  much  clothes  on  for? 
,  .  .  Gee !  you  smell  as  sweet  as  honeysuck'  1" 

Pen  beat  his  face  with  her  clenched  fists.  He  sim- 
ply lowered  his  head  laughing,  and  clung  to  her.  She 
had  a  sickening  feeling  of  helplessness,  and  she  dared 
not  call  for  help.  It  was  all  over  in  half  a  minute. 
She  heard  running  footsteps  from  the  direction  of  the 
camp,  and  felt  herself  suddenly  released. 

The  newcomer  was  Don.  "What's  this?"  he  cried 
with  an  oath  that  startled  Pen — and  charmed  her. 

"Hell,  I  didn't  know  it  was  your  propitty,  Jones," 
the  other  man  said  sullenly. 

"Damn  you  .  .  .!" 

Pen  apprehended  a  blow  about  to  be  given,  and 
as  in  a  flash,  the  ghastly  consequences  of  a  fight  there, 
were  revealed  to  her.  She  flung  her  arms  around 
Don,  and  clung  to  him  without  speaking.  He  under- 
stood. He  conquered  his  rage  with  a  groan. 

"Well  ...  get  out!"  he  said  thickly. 

The  other  man  melted  away  into  the  dark. 

Pen  and  Don  clung  to  each  other.  "  Of  the  two  the 
man  was  the  more  shaken.  Moments  passed  before 
he  could  speak.  Then: 

"Oh  my  girl!  my  girl!" 

"It  is  nothing,"  Pen  said.    "I  am  not  made  of  glass." 

"My  fault  because  I  was  late,"  he  groaned.  "I 
couldn't  get  rid  of  those  fellows  I  was  with." 


256  Ramshackle  House 

"I  am  safe,"  Pen  said.  "Forget  about  it.  I  have 
something  to  tell  you.  There  is  little  time." 

They  started  to  walk  slowly  away  from  the  direc- 
tion of  the  camp.  Pen  repeated  Blanche  Paglar's  let- 
ter to  him  word  for  word.  It  arrested  his  attention, 
and  he  quieted  down.  When  they  found  themselves 
drawing  too  near  the  lighthouse, .they  turned  and  came 
slowly  back,  Don  straining  Pen  against  his  side. 

When  she  had  described  her  problem,  Don  said  in- 
stantly: "There's  just  one  thing  to  do.  You  must 
give  me  up  to  Riever  and  collect  the  reward." 

Pen's  breast  contracted  sharply.  She  bitterly 
blamed  herself.  Why  had  she  not  foreseen  that  this 
was  what  he  would  say.  She  couldn't  answer. 

"How  about  it?"  he  asked. 

"I  couldn't!"  she  murmured. 

"But  if  it's  the  best  thing  to  do?" 

"I  simply  couldn't  I" 

"Listen,  dearest,  we  must  think  this  thing  clean 
through  to  the  end.  These  people  in  New  York  seem 
to  have  started  something.  Well,  that  being  so,  this 
seems  to  me  as  good  an  opportunity  as  any,  for  me 
to  come  out  and  put  up  my  fight." 

"I  must  find  out  first  how  much  they've  learned." 

"She  says  it  is  not  complete.  But  they've  started 
something.  They  seem  to  be  on  the  level  with  us. 
We  must  back  them  up  before  the  trail  grows  cold." 

"I  could  find  another  way  of  raising  the  money." 

"I'd  rather  use  Riever's  money,"  he  said  dryly. 
"I've  got  to  stand  trial  anyhow.  It  will  take  a  whole 
lot  of  money,  and  I  don't  see  any  other  way  of  raising 
«t  Tbere'd  be  a  sort  of  poetic  justice  in  making 


Pen's  Hand  is  Forced  257 

Riever  pay  the  expenses  of  my  trial.  But  we  must 
act  quickly.  He's  bound  to  find  out  that  you  and  I 
are  working  together.  Then  he'd  never  pay  you  the 
reward." 

"How  could  I  bring  myself  to  do  such  a  thing!" 

"Wait  a  minute !  Suppose  we  do  nothing,  what  will 
happen?  Oh,  I'm  in  no  particular  danger  now.  In 
a  few  days  they'll  get  sick  of  this  search  and  give  it  up. 
I  can  see  signs  of  it  coming.  Well,  I  can  go  back  to 
the  Eastern  shore  with  the  fellows  I'm  chumming  with 
and  get  clean  away.  I've  a  new  identity  all  established. 
But  what  then?  What  sort  of  a  life  would  I  have? 
I'd  be  a  sort  of  wandering  Jew  without  a  friend  in  the 
world,  except  you,  and  I  wouldn't  dare  communicate 
with  you.  I'd  be  one  of  the  miserable  floaters  that 
have  to  do  the  dirtiest  work  for  the  least  pay.  God! 
when  you  are  really  on  the  outs  of  things  you're  up 
against  it !  You're  at  the  bottom  of  a  pit  with  smooth 
walls!" 

"Wherever  you  were  I  would  be,"  she  whispered. 

"I  wouldn't  take  you!"  he  said  simply.  "Not  that! 
Not  unless  we  could  hold  our  heads  up." 

"How  could  I  do  it?"  murmured  poor  Pen.  "How 
could  I  make  my  lips  shape  the  words?" 

"But  if  it  was  I  you  were  doing  it  for,  dear- 
est ?" 

v  o  c      •      •      •  • 

Slowly  pacing  up  and  down  cheek  to  cheek,  they 
endlessly  and  lovingly  disputed  the  question  without 
being  able  to  come  to  a  conclusion.  In  their  deep  pre- 
occupation they  became  careless.  The  slab-sided  moon 
rose  over  the  high  bank,  and  shone  upon  them  full, 
and  they  gave  no  heed. 


258  Ramshackle  House 

The  edge  of  the  beach  was  bordered  with  the  brittle 
woody  bushes  that  the  natives  call  water-weed.  Pen 
and  Don  had  paused  in  their  pacing,  and  were  standing 
looking  into  each  other's  faces  with  their  clasped  hands 
between  them.  Suddenly  from  behind  a  clump  of 
bushes  immediately  alongside  them  rose  the  figure  of 
a  man.  He  was  silhouetted  against  the  moon  with 
a  significant  raised  arm. 

"Hands  up,  Counsell!    I  got  you  covered!" 

Don  acted  like  a  lightning  flash.  With  a  thrust  out 
of  his  arms  he  sent  Pen  reeling  backwards.  She  fell 
in  the  sand.  At  the  same  instant  Don  dived  low 
through  the  bushes  and  caught  the  other  man  around 
the  legs.  He  measured  his  length  in  the  sand.  It  was 
so  quick  that  he  did  not  even  fire.  The  pistol  flew  out 
of  his  hand.  Pen  following  a  blind  instinct,  scrambled 
on  hands  and  knees  and  secured  it. 

Don  had  flung  himself  on  the  other  man,  and  they 
were  struggling  furiously  and  silently  in  the  sand.  Don 
kept  on  top.  When  Pen's  eyes  were  able  to  distinguish 
between  them,  she  saw  that  Don  was  planted  on  the 
other  man's  chest,  holding  one  of  his  arms  down  with 
one  hand,  and  pressing  his  other  hand  over  the  man's 
mouth.  With  his  free  hand  the  man  struck  ineffectually 
up  at  Don's  body,  or  tried  in  vain  to  pull  away  the  hand 
that  covered  his  mouth.  His  legs  were  thrashing 
wildly. 

"Something  to  gag  him  with,"  panted  Don. 

Pen  tore  off  her  sun-bonnet  and  rolling  it  up  with 
the  strings  out  handed  it  over.  She  sat  on  the  man's 
right  arm,  when  Don  was  obliged  to  release  it.  Some- 
how Don  managed  to  force  the  tvristed  roll  of  cotton 


Pen's  Hand  is  Forced  259 

between  his  teeth,  and  with  Pen's  aid,  passed  the 
strings  under  his  head  and  tied  the  gag  with  the  knots 
in  front.  Sepulchral  groans  issued  from  beneath  it. 

"Something  to  tie  his  hands  and  feet!"  whispered 
Don. 

Pen,  anticipating  it,  already  had  her  apron  off.  She 
managed  to  tear  off  the  band,  which  with  the  strings 
attached,  made  a  useful  lashing.  Between  the  two  of 
them  they  got  the  struggling  man  turned  over,  and 
finally  got  his  wrists  tied  behind  him.  With  the  rest 
of  the  apron  they  bound  his  ankles  together.  Don 
rolled  his  coat  around  the  man's  head  to  stifle  his 
groans,  and  they  stood  up  and  looked  anxiously  up  and 
down  the  beach.  They  were  about  half  way  between 
the  lighthouse  and  the  tents.  Nothing  stirred  in  either 
direction. 

Don  looked  down  at  the  helpless  figure.  "Who  do 
you  suppose  it  is?"  he  asked. 

"Keesing,  one  of  the  detectives,"  said  Pen.  "I 
recognized  his  voice.  He  must  have  followed  me 
down  here  .  .  .  But  I  don't  see  how  he  could." 

Don  shook  his  head.  "More  likely  Pardoe — the 
man  you  ran  into  here,  told  him  something  and  he  came 
snooping  around  just  on  a  chance.  I  gave  myself  away 
with  my  own  talk." 

They  were  silent  for  a  moment.  Both  were  think- 
ing of  the  same  thing. 

Don  said:  "Well  ...  I  guess  the  die  is  cast  for 
us  now." 

Pen  clasped  her  hands.     "Oh,  Don!" 

"You've  got  to  march  me  out  on  board  the  yacht 
quick  and  give  me  up." 


260  Ramshackle  House 

"Oh,  Don!" 

"This  fellow  will  soon  wriggle  loose.  Then  the  fat 
will  be  in  the  fire.  You  must  see  there's  no  other  way." 

She  nodded  despairingly. 

"Come  on,"  said  Don.  "...  I  guess  Riever  won't 
mind  being  roused  up  for  such  a  purpose,"  he  added 
grimly.  "Bring  the  fellow's  gun  with  you." 

They  set  off  down  the  beach. 

"This  man  will  tell  Riever  that  I  didn't  intend  to 
bring  you  in,"  said  Pen. 

"We'll  have  to  cook  up  some  yarn  .  .  .  Tell  Riever 
you  were  bringing  me  in  when  this  fellow  Keesing  tried 
to  horn  in  on  the  reward." 

There  was  no  sound  of  waking  life  about  the  tents, 
On  the  beach  in  front,  all  sorts  and  sizes  of  skiffs  were 
drawn  up.  They  chose  the  first  one  that  had  oars 
lying  in  it.  The  falling  tide  had  left  it  high  and  dry, 
and  it  required  a  strenuous  effort  on  Don's  part  to 
launch  it.  At  the  scraping  of  the  bottom  on  the  sand, 
a  voice  issued  out  of  the  nearest  tent: 

"Who's  that?" 

A  lean  and  disheveled  shadow  appeared  in  the  tent 
opening. 

"It's  Jones,"  said  Don  lightly.  "Just  want  to  take 
a  lady  for  a  little  row." 

"Oh  all  right,  Jones.    Go  as  far  as  you  like." 

"I'm  popular  with  the  gang,"  murmured  Don  dryly. 

He  only  had  three  hundred  yards  to  row  to  the 
yacht.  It  was  one  thing  to  decide  resolutely  to  give 
himself  up,  and  another  thing  to  put  it  into  practice. 
He  took  half  a  dozen  strokes  energetically,  and  then 
loafed  at  the  oars,  gazing  hungrily  at  Pen. 


Pen's  Hand  is  Forced  261 

Pen  suddenly  conscious  of  the  absurd  figure  she  must 
be  making,  put  up  her  hands  and  unpinning  her  hair, 
shook  it  about  her  shoulders.  Don  drew  in  his  oars, 
and  creeping  aft  caught  up  the  dark  tide  and  pressed 
it  to  his  lips. 

"Oh,  why  do  you  do  that  now?"  he  groaned.  "You 
are  so  beautiful  that  way?" 

Pen  caught  his  head  against  her  breast.  "How 
can  I?  How  can  I?  How  can  I?"  she  murmured. 

Don  with  a  sigh  went  back  to  his  oars. 

Pen  with  a  twist  or  two,  put  up  her  hair  in  more  be- 
coming fashion.  She  began  to  pull  out  the  various 
lengths  of  cotton  with  which  she  had  stuffed  out  her 
bodice,  and  dropped  them  overboard.  Don,  the  irre- 
pressible, began  to  laugh  shakily.  Pen  gasped,  and 
laughed  too.  They  looked  at  each  other  and  laughed 
softly  until  they  felt  weak. 

"Is  that  all?"  asked  Don  at  last. 

Pen  fishing  around  inside  her  dress  nodded. 

"Well,  I'm  relieved,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  but  it's  dreadful  to  laugh  now,"  Pen  murmured 
remorsefully. 

"It's  the  only  thing  to  do,"  said  Don  simply. 

He  was  sober  enough  when  they  touched  the  side 
of  the  yacht.  He  made  the  skiff's  painter  fast  to  the 
grating  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder,  aftd  stepping  out, 
drew  Pen  up  beside  him. 

"Kiss  me,"  he  whispered.  "Maybe  it'll  be  the 
last  .  .  .!" 

A  murmur  of  pain  was  forced  from  Pen's  breast. 

"I  mean  for  a  good  while,"  he  hastily  added. 

They  clung  together.     His  face  was  wet  from  hers. 


262  Ramshackle  House 

The  sound  of  a  footfall  on  the  deck  overhead  caused 
them  to  draw  apart  quickly. 

"Take  the  gun  in  your  hand,"  Don  whispered. 

They  went  up  the  ladder,  Don  in  advance.  On  the 
deck  an  astonished  watchman  faced  them. 

"What  do  you  want?"  he  demanded. 

"I  am  Miss  Broome,"  said  Pen.  "I  want  to  see  Mr. 
Riever." 

"He's  turned  in,  Miss." 

In  order  to  avoid  frightening  him  unduly,  Pen  kept 
the  pistol  hidden  in  a  fold  of  her  skirt.  "He  must  be 
awakened,"  she  said.  "It  is  important." 

The  watchman,  like  everybody  else  on  board  the 
yacht,  had  gathered  from  watching  his  master  that 
Pen  was  a  person  to  be  propitiated.  "I'll  tell  him," 
he  said,  and  disappeared  within  the  deckhouse. 

Pen  and  Don  left  alone  on  deck,  leaned  over  the 
rail  and  pressing  their  shoulders  together,  gazed  down 
at  the  black  water  etched  with  phosphorescence  where 
the  little  waves  lapped  against  the  vessel's  side  and 
rolled  back  again. 

"I  love  you,"  Don  whispered.  "Whatever  happens, 
you  have  made  life  to  me  worth  living." 

Pen  caught  her  breath.  "Ah,  don't  speak,"  she 
murmured.  "Or  I  sha'n't  ...  be  able  to  go  through 
with  it." 

They  groped  for  each  other's  hands. 

They  had  not  to  wait  long.  They  saw  Riever  com- 
ing through  the  lighted  deck  saloon  before  he  could 
see  them.  The  watchman  accompanied  him,  and  an- 
other man,  a  sort  of  valet-bodyguard.  Riever  was 
wearing  a  gorgeous  orange  and  blue  flowered  dressing- 


Pen's  Hand  is  Forced  263 

gown.  His  face  looked  puffier  than  by  day,  but  his 
thin  hair  was  carefully  brushed.  He  had  an  expression 
of  oddly  strained  eagerness. 

As  they  came  through  the  door,  one  of  the  men 
turned  a  switch  and  the  deck  was  flooded  with  light. 
Riever's  sharpened  gaze  flew  first  to  Pen's  face,  and 
from  Pen  to  Don.  For  a  fraction  of  a  second  he  did 
not  recognize  him,  but  Don  grinned,  and  said  coolly: 

"Hello,  Ernest!" 

Then  he  knew.  His  face  became  convulsed.  "Coun- 
sell!"  he  cried  in  a  high  strained  voice.  He  whirled 
on  the  watchman.  "Blow  your  whistle!  Rouse  the 
ship!" 

The  shrill,  wailing  sound  pierced  the  night. 

Half  beside  himself  Riever  cried  to  Don:  "You 
fox!  I've  run  you  to  earth  at  last!" 

"You  didn't,"  said  Don,  smiling  at  him  steadily. 

"Well,  you're  caught!  You've  seen  the  last  of  the, 
sun.  You're  done  for!" 

Doors  opened  and  slammed  throughout  the  yacht. 
Feet  came  running.  Among  the  first  to  arrive  was 
the  skipper  from  his  quarters  up  forward,  struggling 
into  his  coat  as  he  ran.  Pen  looked  on  at  it  all, 
strangely  detached.  She  felt  as  if  she  were  watching 
the  actors  in  the  scene,  including  herself,  from  some 
point  outside  her  body. 

To  each  new  arrival  Riever  cried:  "We've  got 
Counsell!"  It  was  almost  a  scream.  "There  he  is! 
Secure  him!  Put  him  in  the  strong  room  forward  of 
the  staterooms.  Have  an  armed  guard  at  the  door 
day  and  night.  If  he  resists  put  him  in  irons  I" 


264  Ramshackle  House 

The  skipper  and  another  clapped  hands  on  Don's 
shoulders. 

Don  said :  "Take  your  hands  off  me,  and  I'll  go  with 
you  quietly." 

Surrounded  by  his  creatures,  Riever,  his  face  swollen 
and  flaming,  walked  up  close  to  Don  and  all  but  spat 
on  him.  He  had  lost  all  control  of  himself.  He  had 
forgotten  Pen's  presence.  "You  grinning  blackguard!" 
he  cried.  "Grin  while  you  can  !  You  won't  be  grinning 
when  they  lead  you  out  to  the  chair!  And  I'll  be 
there  to  see  it!" 

Pen  turned  away  her  face.  She  could  not  be  angry 
at  the  little  man;  he  was  beneath  it.  She  was  sickened 
with  disgust.  As  for  Don,  he  merely  drew  down  the 
corners  of  his  lips  aggravatingly,  and  drawled: 

"Be  yourself !  Be  yourself,  Ernest  I  You're  all  wet !" 

A  titter  was  heard  on  the  outside  of  the  circle. 

"Take  him  away!"  Riever  cried  furiously. 

Most  of  the  men  accompanied  the  skipper  and  his 
prisoner  along  the  deck  to  the  forward  companionway. 
A  steward  or  two  was  left  hanging  about  the  after 
deck,  and  a  pretty,  frightened  stewardess,  clutching  a 
pink  kimono  about  her. 

"Get  away!  Get  away — all  of  you!"  yelled  Riever 
waving  his  arms. 

When  they  were  left  alone  on  deck  Riever  went  to 
Pen  where  she  stood  on  the  same  spot  in  the  same 
position,  the  pistol  hanging  limply  down.  He  said 
thickly : 

"My  darling!    Now  I  know  you're  mine !" 

A  sharp  little  cry  escaped  Pen.  She  had  overlooked 
this  possibility.  Instinctively  her  hands  went  up  be- 


Pen's  Hand  is  Forced  265 

tween  them.  She  did  not  point  the  gun  at  him,  but  its 
mere  presence  in  her  hand  was  sufficient  to  bring  him 
to  a  stand.  She  backed  slowly  to  the  rail.  When  she 
hit  against  it,  she  glanced  down  over  her  shoulder  at 
the  dark  water  with  a  curious  lightening  of  the  horror 
in  her  face. 

That  glance  overboard  was  not  lost  on  Riever.  He 
looked  at  her,  scowling  and  pulling  at  his  lip.  Lest  he 
should  hear  what  would  be  intolerable  to  his  self-love, 
he  made  haste  to  furnish  reasons  for  her  conduct. 

"Of  course  .  .  .  you're  all  upset  I"  he  muttered. 
"It's  natural  after  such  a  strain  ...  I  under- 
stand .  .  ." 

Pen  was  suddenly  overcome  by  weakness.  The  gun 
clattered  to  the  deck.  She  staggered  to  the  nearest 
deck-chair  and  sank  into  it. 

Riever  called  sharply:    "Carter!" 

The  pink-clad  stewardess  appeared  miraculously  in 
the  cabin  doorway. 

"Miss  Broome  is  faint,"  said  Riever.  "Get  smell- 
ing-salts!" 

Pen  wanted  to  keep  the  girl  out  on  deck.  "Wait!" 
she  said  weakly.  "I'm  not  going  to  faint.  I  want 
nothing  ...  I  only  want  to  go  home." 

Riever  bent  over  her.  She  closed  her  eyes  to  avoid 
seeing  him.  "Of  course  that's  what^you  want,"  he 
murmured.  "I'll  take  you  just  as  quick  as  I  can  dress." 

Pen  did  not  protest,  because  by  this  time  she  had 
regained  sufficient  self-possession  to  realize  that,  until 
this  man  had  fulfilled  his  promise  to  her,  she  must  not 
rebuff  him  too  much,  though  she  did  indeed  almost  faint 
with  horror  at  his  nearness. 


266  Ramshackle  House 

As  he  left  the  deck  he  ordered  the  girl  to  stay  with 
Pen.  The  girl  came  sidling  towards  her  with  an 
emotion  in  her  face  that  she  could  not  control.  Her 
eyes  were  both  hard  and  soft  on  Pen.  In  that  look 
Pen  saw  as  clearly  as  if  it  had  been  written  on  the  girl 
that  she  was  Riever's  mistress,  but  at  that  moment  the 
discovery  caused  her  no  feeling. 

"Can  I  get  you  anything,  Miss?"  the  girl  asked  in 
a  purring  tone. 

"No  thank  you,"  said  Pen.     "You  needn't  wait." 

She  retreated  to  the  deck  saloon,  where  she  stood 
hovering  in  the  doorway,  stealing  glances  at  Pen  that 
were  diffident,  wistful  and  sneering. 

Riever  came  back  fully  dressed,  and  attended  by 
various  servitors.  The  speed-boat  was  brought  around 
to  the  gangway  ladder,  and  Pen  handed  in.  She  had 
picked  up  the  gun  and  concealed  it  within  her  dress. 

"That  skiff  belongs  to  one  of  the  men  in  the  tents," 
she  said  pointing. 

A  sailor  was  told  off  to  row  it  ashore. 

They  landed  on  the  old  wharf,  and  Riever  led  her 
up  the  hill.  To  Pen's  relief  they  were  followed  a  hun- 
dred feet  or  so  behind,  by  a  body-guard.  Riever  had 
his  hand  under  her  elbow.  She  would  not  allow  herself 
to  object  to  that,  though  her  flesh  crawled  at  his  touch. 

"You  feel  better  now?"  he  murmured. 

She  nodded. 

"Tell  me  how  it  came  about." 

She  had  her  story  ready  for  him.  She  cut  it  as 
cunningly  to  the  pattern  of  truth  as  she  could.  "I 
searched  to-day  in  all  the  places  I  knew  of,  but  I  found 
no  trace  of  him.  On  my  way  home  along  the  road  this 


Pen's  Hand  is  Forced  267 

evening  I  saw  him  returning  amongst  the  other  search- 
ers. It  seems  he  joined  the  searchers  some  days  ago. 
That's  why  you  couldn't  find  him." 

"What  devilish  cunning!"  cried  Riever. 

"It  was  growing  dark,"  Pen  went  on.  "He  dropped 
behind  the  men  he  was  with,  and  we  had  some  talk. 
We  couldn't  say  much  there  amongst  all  those  people — 
I  wasn't  going  to  let  them  know,  so  I  made  an  appoint- 
ment with  him  to  meet  me  on  the  beach  at  eleven,  when 
I  supposed  everything  would  have  quieted  down.  He 
suspected  nothing." 

"Oh,  he  thinks  he's  irresistible!"  sneered  Riever. 
" .  .  .It  was  dangerous.  You  should  have  arranged 
to  have  men  concealed  there." 

"I  wanted  to  deliver  him  up  to  you  myself  as  I  said 
I  would." 

"You  are  wonderful!"  murmured  Riever. 

"I  went  armed,"  said  Pen.  "And  I  forced  him  to 
come  with  me.  That's  all." 

Riever  carried  her  hand  to  his  lips.  "You  are  a 
woman  in  a  thousand!"  he  cried.  "I  never  heard  of 
such  pluck!" 

Pen  pulled  her  hand  away.  "Please!  Please!"  she 
murmured.  "I  can't  stand  it!  ...  Not  to-night!" 

He  eagerly  snatched  at  the  little  promise  she  held 
out.  "Ah,  I  won't  press  you,"  he  saicLamorously.  "I 
know  how  you  must  be  feeling.  Tender-hearted  woman 
and  all  that.  Cuts  you  all  up  to  have  to  give  up  a  man 
to  justice.  But  believe  me,  he's  a  bad  one  through  and 
through.  You've  done  a  service  to  all  decent  people. 
You'll  soon  see  that  yourself." 

Pen  sighed  with  relief,  that  he  had  so  ready  an  ex- 


268  Ramshackle  House 

planation  of  her  agitation.  "There's  something  else 
I  must  tell  you,"  she  went  on.  "As  I  was  bringing 
Counsell  along  the  beach  a  man  interfered  between 
us.  I  think  it  was  one  of  the  detectives.  I  suppose 
he  wanted  to  share  in  the  reward.  Anyhow  the  two 
men  fought  on  the  beach.  I  let  them  fight  it  out.  I 
helped  Counsell  because  he  was  my  prisoner.  And  he 
got  the  best  of  the  other  man  and  tied  him  up.  I 
suppose  he's  lying  there  yet.  Half  way  between  the 
wharf  and  the  lighthouse.  As  soon  as  it  was  over  I 
forced  Counsell  to  come  along  with  me  just  the  same 
as  before." 

Riever  laughed  loudly.  "What  a  woman  you  are!" 
he  cried.  "You've  earned  that  reward  ten  times  over  I 
Don't  you  worry.  Nobody  else  shall  touch  a  cent 
of  it  I" 

That  clear-eyed  little  familiar  inside  Pen  whispered 
to  her:  "This  is  all  very  well,  but  as  soon  as  he  has 
time  to  think  it  over,  he'll  begin  to  see  the  holes  in  your 
story.  You  must  get  the  money  out  of  him  to-night 
if  you  can." 

But  how  could  she  bring  herself  to  speak  of  it? 

They  lingered  at  the  door  of  the  big  house.  The 
body-guard  was  waiting  off  in  the  drive  with  his  back 
discreetly  turned.  Riever  took  enormous  encourage- 
ment from  the  fact  that  Pen  did  not  try  to  hurry  away 
from  him. 

"What  are  your  plans?"  she  murmured. 

"We'll  weigh  anchor  early  to-morrow,"  Riever  said, 
"and  steam  to  Annapolis  where  I  will  obtain  the 
necessary  extradition  papers.  Then  I'll  have  Counsell 


Pen's  Hand  is  Forced  269 

sent  North  by  train.  Before  nightfall  to-morrow  he'll 
be  lodged  safe  in  the  Tombs." 

"The  Tombs?" 

'The  New  York  City  prison." 

Pen  blushed  crimson  in  the  dark  but  doggedly  forced 
herself  to  bring  out  the  words:  "But  .  .  .  how  about 
.  .  .  what  you  promised  me  .  .  ." 

Riever  laughed.  It  had  an  unpleasant  ring,  though 
he  probably  meant  it  good-naturedly  enough.  "What 
a  funny  girl  you  are !  Anxious  about  your  thirty  pieces 
of  silver,  eh  ?  Don't  worry !  I'll  see  you  in  the  morn- 
ing before  I  go." 

Pen  was  obliged  to  let  it  go  at  that,  though  it  was 
with  a  sickening  anxiety. 

Riever's  voice  thickened  again.  "You've  quieted 
down  now,"  he  murmured.  "You're  not  going  to  let 
me  go  like  this  .  .  ." 

Pen's  hands  went  up  again,  but  he  caught  her  roughly 
to  him.  He  could  not  reach  her  face.  He  pressed  a 
burning  kiss  on  her  neck.  Pen  tore  herself  away,  and 
ran  shudderingly  to  her  room. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE   ALEXANDRA    SAILS  AWAY 

NEXT  morning  Pen  was  late,  for  her,  in  getting 
down-stairs,  and  her  father  was  before  her.  He 
had  already  been  out-of-doors  and  had  heard  the 
startling  news.  He  was  pale  with  excitement,  and  his 
expression  presented  a  comical  mixture  of  elation  and 
outraged  parental  authority. 

"What  is  this?"  he  cried.  "Counsell  is  caught? 
And  caught  by  you  I" 

"That  pleases  you,  doesn't  it?"  said  Pen,  in  a  quiet 
way  very  aggravating  to  an  excited  man. 

"Pleases  me?"  he  cried.  "My  daughter  starting 
out  at  night  on  such  an  errand!  Wandering  around 
the  woods  with  a  gun!  Pleases  me!"  He  ended  on 
a  more  human  note.  "You  might  have  told  me  when 
you  came  in,  instead  of  letting  me  learn  it  from 
strangers !" 

"I  was  all  in,"  said  Pen  simply.  "I  couldn't  face 
the  added  excitement  even  of  telling  you." 

"Urn!  Humph!  Ha!"  he  snorted.  "What  will 
become  of  your  reputation?" 

"Mr.  Riever  didn't  seemed  to  think  it  had  suffered," 
Pen  murmured  slyly. 

"Ha!  .  ,  .  Well,  of  course  he  wouldn't  say  sol 
...  I  sha'n't  be  able  to  sleep  quietly  for  thinking 
what  might  have  happened !" 

Pen  saw  that  the  indignant  parent  only  wanted  to 

270 


The  Alexandra  Sails  Away       271 

put  himself  on  record,  and  that  underneath  the  man 
was  delighted.  She  went  ahead  and  gave  him  his 
breakfast.  He  ate  it  in  a  charming  humor. 

Afterwards  she  went  about  her  household  chores 
waiting  for  Riever,  sick  with  anxiety.  Suppose  he 
didn't  come?  Suppose  even  then,  the  yacht  was  getting 
ready  to  sail?  She  couldn't  go  out  to  see.  She  simply 
could  not  humiliate  her  pride  to  the  extent  of  going 
down  to  the  wharf  to  look  for  her  money. 

After  all  Riever  did  come,  and  early,  too.  It  still 
lacked  a  few  minutes  of  nine.  But  he  met  Pendleton 
outside,  who  brought  him  in,  and  the  two  men  were 
closeted  in  the  front  drawing-room  for  awhile.  Pen 
felt  by  instinct  that  this  interview  boded  her  no  good. 
Afterwards  her  father  came  to  her  in  the  kitchen 
saying: 

"Mr  Riever  wants  to  say  good-by  to  you." 

He  avoided  Pen's  eye  as  he  said  it,  and  there  were 
complacent  little  lines  about  the  corners  of  his  mouth. 
"Riever  has  given  him  more  money!"  Pen  thought 
with  sinking  heart. 

Pendleton  did  not  accompany  her  back  to  the  draw- 
ing-room. Riever  was  waiting  for  her,  carefully 
dressed  in  his  admirable,  square-cut  yachting  suit.  He 
was  brisk,  and  inclined  to  be  effusive,  signs  in  Pen's 
eyes  that  he  was  secretly  uneasy.  But  perhaps  that 
was  natural.  His  eyes  were  as  devoid  of  expression 
as  an  animal's;  she  could  not  guess  of  what  he  was 
thinking;  his  words  came  merely  from  his  lips. 

"How  are  you?"  he  asked  solicitously.  "Ah,  pale, 
I  see!  Not  much  sleep  perhaps?  Well  thank  God! 
this  nasty  business  is  about  over." 


272  Ramshackle  House 

Pen  did  not  feel  that  this  required  any  answer.  She 
waited. 

"I  said  I'd  come  to  see  you  before  I  set  sail  this 
morning,"  Riever  went  on  briskly — and  then  came  to 
a  somewhat  lame  pause. 

Pen  waited  in  an  anxiety  that  was  like  a  physical 
pain  for  him  to  produce  a  check-book  or  a  bundle  of 
notes.  But  he  made  no  such  move.  There  was  an 
awkward  silence.  Finally  he  said  as  if  at  random: 

"By  the  way  do  you  know  what  became  of  Keesing's 
revolver?  He's  making  a  fuss  about  it." 

"I  haven't  it,"  said  Pen  coolly. 

"He  said  you  took  it  from  him,"  Riever  said  with 
a  light  laugh — but  his  eyes  were  tormented. 

"He  is  mistaken,"  said  Pen.  "When  he  fell  it  flew 
out  of  his  hand.  I  don't  know  what  became  of  it." 

"He  said  you  carried  it  away  in  your  hand." 

"That  was  the  pistol  you  gave  me  in  the  morning 
.  .  .  You  saw  it,"  she  added,  feeling  pretty  sure  that 
Riever  had  been  in  no  condition  to  distinguish  one  pis- 
tol from  another. 

"Why  of  course!"  he  said.  "It's  absurd."  But 
there  was  no  real  conviction  in  his  tones. 

"If  you'll  wait  a  moment  I'll  get  it  for  you,"  said 
Pen. 

"Please  don't  bother,"  he  said.  "Keep  it  as  a 
souvenir." 

There  was  another  silence.  Pen  saw  that  he  dared 
not  accuse  her  openly.  The  matter  had  to  be  threshed 
out  to  a  conclusion,  so  she  grasped  her  nettle  firmly. 

"What  else  did  Mr.  Keesing  tell  you?"  she  asked 
scornfully. 


The  Alexandra  Sails  Away       273 

Riever' s  attempt  to  carry  it  off  lightly  was  painful 
to  see.  "Oh,  I  don't  take  any  stock  in  it,"  he  said 
with  his  laugh. 

"But  I  ought  to  know,  shouldn't  I?" 

Riever  laughed  excessively.  "Said  you  had  no  in- 
tention of  giving  him  up  until  he  surprised  you  to- 
gether. Said  you  were  just  walking  up  and  down  the 
beach  talking."  His  eyes  were  darting  ugly,  pained 
glances  at  her. 

Pen  laughed  too.  "In  the  full  moonlight!"  she  ex- 
claimed. She  was  secretly  relieved.  If  Keesing  had 
overheard  their  talk  he  would  of  course  have  re- 
peated it. 

"I  told  you  there  was  nothing  in  it,"  said  Riever. 

"If  I  was  .  .  .  friendly  with  him,  do  you  think  I'm 
the  sort  of  person  to  give  him  up?"  demanded  Pen. 

"Certainly  not  .  .  .  But  Keesing  said  after  he  had 
recognized  Counsell,  there  was  nothing  else  for  you 
to  do." 

"If  I'd  wanted  to  save  the  other  man  I  could  have 
shot  Keesing,"  said  Pen  boldly. 

Riever  stared.  "Well  ...  I  believe  you  are  capa- 
ble of  it,"  he  muttered.  That  at  least  was  honest. 

Pen  followed  up  her  advantage  quickly.  "Obviously 
a  crude  attempt  to  get  the  reward  for  himself,"  she 
said. 

"That's  what  I  thought  .  .  .  But  Keesing  clearly 
understood  that  there  was  nothing  in  it  for  him,  any- 
way. He  didn't  bring  the  man  in." 

"Then  it  was  just  spite,"  said  Pen. 

"No  doubt,"  said  Riever. 

Pen's  heart  sank.      She   was  making  no  progress 


274  Ramshackle  House 

whatever.  He  would  agree  with  everything  she  said, 
and  act  according  to  his  own  secret  motives.  She  was 
determined  to  drag  these  out  into  the  light. 

"Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?"  she 
asked  bluntly. 

"Why,  nothing!"  he  said  with  an  air  of  surprise. 

"I  mean  about  the  money,"  said  Pen  firmly. 

He  averted  his  head.  "What  do  you  want  so  much 
money  for?"  he  muttered. 

"What  does  anybody  want  money  for?"  said  Pen. 
"Thousands  of  things!" 

He  came  towards  her  eagerly.  "Tell  me  what  they 
are,"  he  stuttered.  "Anything  .  .  .  anything  money 
will  buy!  You  have  only  to  name  it!" 

"I  can't  take  gifts  from  you,"  said  Pen  coldly.  "I've 
earned  this  money,  haven't  I?  You  promised  it." 

"I  don't  go  back  on  my  promises,"  he  muttered. 

"Well  then?" 

"But  just  at  the  moment  I  haven't  it  by  me." 

Pen  thought:   "It's  all  over!"    And  tasted  despair. 

He  went  on  more  glibly:  "One's  money  gets  all  tied 
up  you  know.  And  I've  been  under  heavy  expenses. 
Of  course  I  can  arrange  it  when  I  get  back  to  town. 
I'll  bring  it  to  you  myself.  Just  as  soon  as  I  can  get 
this  ugly  business  off  my  hands.  It  won't  take  long. 
Popular  opinion  demands  that  the  man  be  tried 
speedily.  And  I  can  set  certain  influences  at  work.  I 
fancy  the  trial  will  be  brief.  In  six  weeks  you  can  ex- 
pect to  see  me  back  again.  .  .  .  And  under  much  hap- 
pier circumstances  I  trust.  I'm  afraid  at  present  you 
have  certain  doubts  of  me.  Almost  a  dislike.  This 
has  been  such  a  beastly  business  I  When  I  come  back 


The  Alexandra  Sails  Away       275 

my  whole  aim  will  be  to  remove  your  doubts.  To  show 
you  what  I  really  am.  And  what  you  mean  to  me. 
Thank  God!  time  is  on  my  side!" 

Pen  kept  her  eyes  down  to  hide  the  thought  she  was 
sure  must  be  speaking  through  them:  "If  you  came 
back  here  under  such  circumstances  I  should  kill  you !" 

Her  stillness  frightened  him.  He  began  to  hedge. 
"But  what  am  I  saying?  You  don't  have  to  wait  for 
your  money  till  I  come  back.  It  is  a  matter  I  can  ar- 
range with  my  bankers.  You  may  expect  a  check  with- 
in a  week." 

Pen  was  not  deceived  of  course.  She  foresaw  the 
silky,  apologetic  letter  she  would  receive  at  the  end 
of  a  week — without  any  check.  She  was  silent. 

Riever's  instinct  warned  him  against  making  any 
loverly  demonstration  at  such  a  moment.  "Good-by," 
he  said. 

Pen's  generous,  open  nature  imperiously  demanded 
that  she  avow  her  true  feelings,  and  crush  him  like  the 
worm  he  was.  It  cost  her  a  frightful,  silent  struggle 
to  keep  it  in.  She  kept  saying  to  herself  mechanically: 
"We  haven't  convicted  him  yet.  I  must  go  on  deceiv- 
ing him!" 

Without  raising  her  eyes,  she  offered  him  her  hand. 
He  carried  it  lightly  to  his  lips,  and  quickly  left  the 
room. 

But  how  he  got  out,  or  what  she  herself  did  during 
the  next  half  hour,  Pen  could  never  have  told  clearly. 
When  she  came  back  to  the  realization  of  things  it  was 
to  find  herself  kneeling  at  one  of  the  windows  in  her 
room  listening  to  the  clank  of  the  yacht's  anchor  chain. 
The  sound  seemed  to  be  striking  on  her  bare  heart. 


276  Ramshackle  House 

She  saw  the  mud-hook  slowly  rise  out  of  the  water, 
and  the  yacht's  screws  set  up  a  churning  astern.  The 
graceful  vessel  began  to  move.  She  came  about  in  a 
wide  circle  and  swept  out  of  Pen's  range  of  vision  be- 
hind the  trees.  As  she  passed  the  lighthouse  she 
saluted  with  three  blasts  of  her  melodious  whistle,  and 
the  lighthouse  bell  tolled  in  answer. 

Somewhere  in  the  bowels  of  that  vessel,  in  darkness 
perhaps,  and  manacled,  sat  the  bright-haired  Don, 
grinning  derisively  at  misfortune.  He  was  depending 
on  her;  keeping  himself  up  no  doubt  with  the  assurance 
that  she  had  secured  the  money  to  save  him  .  .  .  Pen's 
head  dropped  on  her  arms. 

Upon  the  departure  of  the  yacht,  the  crowd  at 
Broome's  Point  quickly  broke  up.  Slow-moving  ox- 
carts started  up  the  Neck  road,  and  noisy  motor-boats 
put  off  up  the  river  and  across  the  Bay.  Before  it  was 
midday  the  old  unbroken  peace  had  descended  on  the 
remote  estate,  and  all  that  had  happened  in  between 
seemed  like  a  dream.  As  of  old,  the  fish-hawks 
plunged  for  their  wriggling  prey,  buzzards  circled  high 
in  the  blue,  hens  clucked  contentedly  at  the  kitchen 
door,  and  the  turkeys  set  up  a  sudden  gobbling  in  the 
fields. 

Pen  could  not  long  give  herself  up  to  despair.  She 
must  act  if  she  wished  to  save  her  sanity.  With  a 
tormented  face  she  went  about  the  house  in  a  whirl 
of  activity.  Black  Aunt  Maria's  eyes  rolled  askance 
at  her  mistress.  Pendleton  remained  down  on  the 
beach  seeing  the  boats  off.  Pen  suspected  he  was  pur- 
posely keeping  out  of  her  way. 


The  Alexandra  Sails  Away       277 

When  he  came  in  to  dinner  he  was  affecting  an  air 
of  busy  abstraction.  When  Pen  addressed  him  he 
would  reply,  gently : 

"Don't  interrupt  me,  my  dear.  I  have  an  idea  just 
taking  shape  in  my  mind." 

This  was  an  old  dodge  of  his,  when  he  wished  to 
escape  something  unpleasant.  Pen  smiled  to  herself 
without  mirth,  and  quietly  bided  her  time. 

When  he  was  finished  eating  he  attempted  to  slide 
out  of  the  room,  but  Pen  was  on  the  watch  for  that. 

"One  moment,  father." 

"Another  time,  my  dear.  I  must  get  this  down  on 
paper  before  it  escapes  me." 

Pen  put  herself  determinedly  between  him  and  the 
door.  "Sorry,"  she  said.  "But  I  have  some  rights 
as  well  as  your  ideas." 

"Only  an  ignorant  person  sneers  at  ideas,"  he  said 
loftily. 

Pen  refused  to  be  drawn  aside.  She  began  mildly: 
"Now  that  this  business  is  over,  I  hope  there's  no  ob- 
jection to  my  going  away  for  a  little  while." 

His  eyes  narrowed  and  hardened  as  a  weak  and 
stubborn  man's  must.  "Why  should  you  go  away 
now?"  he  demanded.  "The  trouble  is  over.  This  is 
the  best  place  to  rest." 

"Just  the  same  I  must  go,"  said  Pen.  "Will  you 
give  me  the  money?" 

"I'll  take  you  for  a  visit  to  Cousin  Laura  Lee  at 
Frederick,"  he  said.  "The  trip  will  do  us  both  good." 

"I  must  have  more  of  a  change  than  that,"  said  Pen 
patiently.  "I  need  six  hundred  dollars." 


278  Ramshackle  House 

"Preposterous!"  he  cried.  "You  know  I  have  no 
such  sum  to  fritter  away!" 

"I  have  worked  for  you  six  years,"  said  Pen  wist- 
fully. "A  hundred  dollars  a  year  does  not  seem 
much!" 

"Oh,  if  you're  going  to  measure  your  duty  towards 
me  in  dollars  and  cents!" 

"But  I'm  not!    I  ..." 

"That's  enough.  I  am  your  father.  I  am  the  best 
judge  of  what  is  right  for  you." 

Pen  was  too  sore  at  heart  to  be  very  patient.  "You 
got  more  money  from  Mr.  Riever  this  morning,"  she 
said  at  a  venture. 

There  was  a  significant  exchange  of  glances,  startled 
on  his  part,  quietly  assured  on  hers.  He  saw  that  it 
was  useless  to  deny  it. 

"Well  if  I  did,"  he  said  with  dignity,  "you  may  be 
sure  it  wasn't  a  gift.  I  gave  a  fair  return  for  it  ... 
Anyway,  that's  my  capital.  I  can't  spend  it." 

"Did  you  undertake  to  keep  me  here  for  him?"  Pen 
asked  quietly. 

By  the  way  he  puffed  out  his  cheeks  and  wagged  his 
head  she  saw  that  she  had  guessed  somewhere  near 
the  truth.  She  was  unspeakably  saddened.  Her 
father!  What  was  the  use? 

Meanwhile  he  was  noisy  in  his  aggrieved  protesta- 
tions. "How  can  you  say  such  a  thing!  Am  I  not 
your  father?  You  must  know  that  every  act  of  mine 
is  solely  directed  by  a  concern  for  your  good.  My 
life  is  devoted  to  that  end." 

Pen  struggled  on,  though  she  was  convinced  of  the 


The  Alexandra  Sails  Away       279 

hopelessness  of  it.  "I  grant  that,"  she  said.  "Will- 
ingly !  But  you  might  be  mistaken  .  .  ." 

"Never!"  he  cried,  without  any  notion  of  his  ab- 
surdity. 

"Well,  we  mustn't  quarrel,"  said  Pen.  "I  appeal 
to  your  affection  for  me.  I  seldom  ask  you  for  any- 
thing. I  am  not  one  of  the  flighty  kind.  You  must 
see  that  I  am  in  deadly  earnest.  I  must  go  awayl  If 
I  were  kept  here  I  should  go  out  of  my  mind!" 

But  cupidity  had  for  the  moment  overcome  his 
natural  affections — as  it  has  a  way  of  doing.  "Poohl 
you're  talking  like  a  flighty  girl  now,':  he  said  loftily. 
"Permit  me  to  be  the  judge  of  what  is  best  for  you." 

"Oh,  all  right,"  said  Pen  with  a  sudden  change  of 
tone.  "Let's  say  no  more  about  it." 

Pendleton  was  a  little  astonished  by  his  victory, 
for  his  case  was  bad.  "Well,  that's  my  own  girl!"  he 
said,  approaching  her  full  of  fine,  fatherly  approval. 

Pen  cast  an  odd,  cold  glance  at  him  and  passed  out 
into  the  pantry.  Pendleton  went  up-stairs  feeling 
acutely  uncomfortable. 

During  the  afternoon  they  pursued  the  usual  routine. 
Pen's  first  act  was  to  let  Doug  out  of  the  barn.  The 
good  dog  was  wild  with  delight.  Pendleton  went  for 
the  mail. 

When  he  came  into  the  house  for  supper,  his  eyes 
sought  Pen's  face  with  a  furtive  anxiety.  All  was 
serene  there,  and  his  spirits  rose  mightily.  In  all  these 
years  Pendleton  had  learned  little  about  his  daughter's 
nature.  He  persisted  in  believing  what  he  wished  to 
believe.  During  the  meal  he  was  affable  and  dis- 


280  Ramshackle  House 

cursive.  Pen  listened  with  a  sufficient  smile,  and  was 
as  attentive  as  ever  to  his  wants. 

They  spent  their  usual  quiet  evening  under  the  din- 
ing-room lamp,  Pen  with  her  mending,  Pendleton  with 
his  newspaper.  An  instinct  of  caution  warned  him  not 
to  read  aloud  any  of  the  comment  on  the  Counsell 
case.  The  news  of  the  grand  denouement  had  not 
reached  Baltimore  in  time  for  that  morning's  paper. 
They  retired  early,  Pen  offering  her  cheek  for  the  usual 
good-night  kiss. 

As  soon  as  the  sounds  of  Pendleton's  snores  began 
to  issue  through  the  transom  over  his  door,  Pen  came 
out  of  her  room  again.  She  was  dressed  in  hat  and 
suit,  and  carried  a  small  valise.  She  also  had  a  note 
addressed  to  Aunt  Maria,  giving  certain  directions 
for  breakfast.  As  Aunt  Maria  could  not  read,  Pen 
knew  that  it  would  be  brought  to  Pendleton's  attention 
early. 

She  slipped  out  of  the  house  by  the  back  door.  Doug 
in  his  kennel  whined  with  pleasure.  She  unfastened 
him  with  an  admonition  to  silence.  Doug  was  too  ex- 
perienced a  dog  to  waste  much  energy  in  unnecessary 
noise.  Pen  walked  swiftly  back  through  the  paddock, 
and  through  the  stable  yard  gate  to  the  road.  Doug 
ran  ahead  with  his  tail  high.  It  was  a  fair  night  with 
a  pale  sky,  and  dim  stars. 

She  was  too  early.  She  loafed  along  the  road.  At 
the  gate  to  the  distant  field  where  the  sheep  were  pas- 
tured, she  leaned  her  elbows  on  the  bars  waiting  for 
the  moon,  while  Doug  pursued  his  canine  investigations 
far  and  near.  He  had  all  the  lost  time  of  his  im- 


The  Alexandra  Sails  Away       281 

prisonment  to  make  up.  Finally  when  the  silver  rim 
appeared,  Pen  let  down  the  bars  and  whistled  for  him. 

"Fetch  them  out,  sir  I"  she  said.  Doug  knew  his 
business  thoroughly. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  huddled  little  flock  was 
striking  into  the  woods,  with  Pen  at  its  heels  and  Doug, 
all  intent  now  upon  his  charges.  Pen  paused  to  let 
them  drink  their  fill  in  the  little  stream  that  flowed 
across  the  road.  They  plodded  on  through  clogging 
sand  and  around  mudholes  that  never  dried  up  from 
one  year's  end  to  another.  There  was  no  regular  beat 
to  the  thudding  little  hoofs,  for  those  in  the  van  were 
always  hanging  back,  and  those  in  the  rear  running  to 
catch  up.  They  passed  along  in  little  gusts  of  sound, 
like  nervous  fingers  drumming  on  a  window  pane.  Pen 
was  choked  with  dust.  "What  will  I  look  like  in  the 
morning?"  she  thought. 

Little  owls  mourned  far  off,  this  way  and  that,  and 
occasionally  the  bark  of  a  fox  brought  Doug  to  a  stand 
with  raised  ruff  and  murmured  growl.  Through  open- 
ings in  the  branches,  stray  shafts  of  moonlight  fell  on 
the  backs  of  the  sheep  making  them  look  like  little  gray 
ghosts  creeping  along  with  bowed  shoulders.  There 
was  a  place  miles  deep  in  the  woods  where  they  passed 
a  squatter's  shack  close  beside  the  road.  The  nervous 
patter  of  hoofs  brought  a  figure  to  the  open  door.  In 
a  curiously  tense  pose  he  watched  them  pass;  trans- 
fixed; without  a  sound. 

It  was  ten  miles  through  the  woods  to  the  fork  in 
the  road  where  you  took  the  right-hand-turn  down  to 
the  wharf  at  Hungerford's  Run,  three  miles  further. 
Endless  it  seemed  to  Pen,  the  way  the  road  twisted 


282  Ramshackle  House 

aimlessly  first  off  in  one  direction,  then  back  in  the 
other.  It  was  level  for  the  most  part  except  for  once 
or  twice  when  it  precipitated  them  into  a  gully  with  a 
branch  over  which  Pen  had  to  jump.  In  spite  of  scurry- 
ing hoofs  their  net  progress  was  slow.  Dawn  had 
broken  before  they  came  out  on  the  open  road.  Pen 
dreading  curious  eyes  urged  them  on  as  fast  as  she 
could. 

She  had  one  encounter.  A  farmer  early  at  the 
plow,  turned  his  team  at  the  end  of  his  furrow,  just 
as  Pen  with  her  convoy  passed  in  the  road  below.  His 
jaw  dropped;  he  all  but  rubbed  his  eyes  at  the  strange 
spectacle  of  a  modishly-dressed  (to  him)  young  lady 
covered  with  dust,  driving  a  flock  of  sheep  miles  from 
anywhere.  Pen  did  not  know  him,  but  he,  by  a  process 
of  elimination  guessed  who  she  must  be.  His  face  ex- 
pressed a  sort  of  agony  of  curiosity  until  the  obvious 
explanation  occurred  to  him,  when  it  cleared. 

"Driving  your  sheep  to  the  steamboat?"  he  said. 

"Yes,"  said  Pen,  blushing,  and  looking  straight 
ahead. 

He  clambered  over  the  fence,  and  slid  down  the 
bank  to  her  side.  "I  just  put  up  my  clover  last  week," 
he  said  in  friendly  fashion.  "Next  field  on  the  left. 
Drive  'em  in  and  let  'em  crop  awhile.  You  got  plenty 
time." 

Pen  thanked  him.  He  walked  beside  her,  glancing 
at  her  from  the  corners  of  his  eyes.  He  opened  a 
gate  for  her,  and  the  grateful  sheep  scattered  inside 
to  their  breakfast. 

"You  come  far?"  he  ventured. 

Pen  nodded. 


The  Alexandra  Sails  Away       283 

"Come  through  the  woods  at  night  alone!" 

"I  had  my  dog." 

"Well  it's  more  than  I  would  have  done.  Why 
didn't  you  ride  a  hoss?" 

"I'm  going  up  on  the  boat,"  said  Pen.  "Had  no 
way  of  getting  the  horse  back.  The  dog  can  find  his 
own  way  of  course." 

"Well,  you're  a  good  plucky  young  lady,  I'll  say 
.  .  .  You'll  find  a  good  spring  down  at  the  foot  of  the 
slope,  yonder.  How  about  some  breakfast,  I'll  be  go- 
ing home  to  mine,  directly." 

"I  brought  it  with  me,  thank  you,"  said  Pen,  indi- 
cating the  valise. 

With  many  a  backward  look  he  returned  to  his 
horses,  and  Pen  was  free  to  wash  at  the  spring,  and 
brush  her  clothes. 

Arriving  at  the  dilapidated  wharf  a  mile  or  so  far- 
ther, she  had  to  run  a  gauntlet  of  curious  stares. 
Everybody  wished  to  help  her,  and  the  sheep  were 
quickly  penned  and  tagged.  Pen  could  see  in  the  men's 
eyes  what  a  storm  of  gossip  would  break  loose  once 
her  back  was  turned,  but  she  cared  little  about  that. 

The  steamboat  on  her  up  trip  was  due  at  eight 
o'clock.  Pen's  chief  anxiety  was  lest  it  should  be  de- 
layed long  enough  to  allow  her  father  to  reach  Hun- 
gerford's  Run  on  horseback.  Pendleton  had  no  right 
to  stop  her  of  course,  and  nothing  he  might  say  could 
shake  her  determination;  but  she  shuddered  at  the 
idea  of  washing  the  family  linen  there  on  the  beach 
before  strangers. 

However  the  Princess  Anne  arrived  before  her 
father,  and  the  sheep  were  driven  aboard.  Pen  put 


284  Ramshackle  House 

her  arms  around  the  good  dog's  neck,  careless  of  who 
might  witness  her  emotion. 

"I  can't  take  you !  I  can't  take  you !"  she  murmured. 
"Do  not  blame  me  for  it  I" 

They  had  to  lock  Doug  in  the  little  warehouse  be- 
fore she  could  go  aboard.  Pen  listened  to  him  flinging 
himself  against  the  door,  and  heard  his  sharp,  an- 
guished barks,  feeling  like  a  traitress. 

The  steamboat  proceeded  on  her  leisurely  course 
from  wharf  to  wharf  up  the  bay% 


CHAPTER  XIII 

IN  CHAMBERS 

THE  Criminal  Court  Building  in  New  York  City 
is  a  huge  square  block  of  yellow  brick  with  an 
incongruous  cornice  and  grandiose  trimmings.  It  is 
of  the  Tammany  period.  Among  architectural  aber- 
rations, architects  give  it  a  leading  place.  It  was  run 
up  on  the  site  of  an  old  pond,  and  was  no  sooner  up 
than  it  threatened  to  fall  down  again.  There  was  a 
great  scare  at  the  time,  but  that  has  long  ago  been 
forgotten.  The  monument  still  stands,  secure  in  its 
ugliness. 

It  is  one  of  the  busiest  places  in  the  city.  It  knows 
no  long  vacations  during  the  heated  term.  Day  in 
and  day  out  the  mills  of  justice  grind  feverishly  with- 
out ever  quite  catching  up  with  the  grist  that  is  offered. 
Judges  from  quieter  jurisdictions  up  state  have  con- 
tinually to  be  imported  to  relieve  the  overworked 
metropolitan  incumbents. 

Within  the  building  there  is  a  vast  enclosed  court 
surrounded  by  wide,  cement-paved  galleries  tier  above 
tier.  Every  day  during  court  hours  these  galleries 
are  thronged  with  what  is  surely  the  most  diverse  col- 
lections of  humanity  ever  brought  together  under  a 
roof;  witnesses  principally,  or  friends  of  the  accused. 
Every  walk  of  life  is  represented;  every  stratum  of 
society.  But  among  the  countless  types  four  are  re- 

285 


286  Ramshackle  House 

peated  over  and  over;  wary-eyed  initiates  of  the  un- 
derworld, weeping  women,  shabby  insinuating  lawyers 
looking  for  business,  and  detectives  with  eyes  as  wary 
as  the  gunmen,  but  better  fed  men  and  full  of  a  con- 
scious rectitude.  Dozens  of  little  dramas  are  going 
on  simultaneously. 

On  a  certain  stifling  morning  in  mid-summer, 
amongst  the  dozens  of  court-rooms  the  interest  of  the 
building  was  focused  in  General  Sessions,  Part  One, 
where  the  case  of  the  People  versus  Counsell  was  be- 
ing tried  under  Stockman,  J.  A  murder  trial.  Com- 
mon as  they  are  in  that  building  a  murder  trial  never 
quite  loses  its  zest,  and  this,  owing  to  the  prominence 
of  the  persons  concerned,  was  a  celebrated  case.  Every 
morning  a  great  crowd  struggled  to  get  into  the  court- 
room, though  the  evidence  was  not  of  a  sensational 
nature.  There  was  no  woman  in  the  case.  It  was  a 
foregone  conclusion  too;  one  of  those  cases  which 
had  been  tried  out  in  the  newspapers  before  being 
brought  into  court,  and  a  verdict  of  guilty  rendered. 
Nobody  had  a  good  word  for  the  defendant  except 
the  morbid  women  who  stormed  the  court-room  doors, 
and  who  secured  a  majority  of  the  seats  inside,  simply 
because  they  were  more  persistent  than  the  men.  These 
women  always  sympathize  with  the  prisoner,  particu- 
larly if,  as  in  this  case,  he  happens  to  be  young  and 
comely. 

As  a  result  of  the  furore  in  the  newspapers  many 
days  had  been  taken  up  in  the  effort  to  secure  an  im- 
partial jury.  But  once  the  taking  of  evidence  began 
the  proceedings  moved  swiftly  enough.  Only  two  days 
had  been  required  by  the  prosecutor  to  present  his 


In  Chambers  287 

case.  Hackett,  the  particular  star  of  the  district- 
attorney's  office,  handled  it.  He  had  scarcely  been 
obliged  to  exert  himself;  everything  was  going  his 
way.  In  three  days  more  the  defendant's  direct  testi- 
mony was  all  in.  Counsell  was  his  own  principal  wit- 
ness. He  had  told  a  straightforward  story  on  the 
stand,  and  a  ruthless  cross-examination  had  failed  to 
shake  it.  Unfortunately  for  him  he  had  no  witnesses 
to  support  his  story.  Proof  of  it  rested  with  the  dead 
man.  There  had  been  no  witnesses  to  the  final  scene 
between  them.  The  trial  had  now  reached  the  stage 
of  rebuttal  testimony  offered  by  the  People. 

When  Court  adjourned  for  the  noon  recess,  Corveth 
of  Defendant's  counsel  made  his  way  out  of  the  build- 
ing with  a  heavy  air  of  dejection.  He  was  a  young 
man,  the  same  age  as  the  prisoner,  an  old  friend  it 
was  said,  and  he  had  full  charge  of  Counsell's  case. 
He  had  put  up  a  strenuous  fight  for  his  friend,  but  not 
perhaps  a  brilliant  one.  He  was  a  first-rate  lawyer, 
but  he  lacked  the  art  of  certain  famous  pleaders  who, 
when  they  have  a  bad  case,  set  out  to  charm  and  dazzle 
judge  and  jury  with  moving  if  irrelevant  eloquence. 
Corveth  was  in  deadly  earnest.  He  passionately  be- 
lieved in  his  client's  innocence,  but  he  had  scarcely 
succeeded  in  proving  it.  And  he  had  often  irritated 
the  Bench  by  his  dogged  fight  on  points  of  law  which 
took  up  time  without  apparently  getting  anywhere. 
Even  now  it  was  a  mistake  of  tactics  for  Corveth  so 
clearly  to  betray  his  discouragement  to  the  inquisitive 
observers  in  the  galleries. 

Two  hours  later  when  he  returned,  the  man's  whole 
bearing  had  changed.  Dejection  had  given  place  to 


288  Ramshackle  House 

an  air  of  excitement  so  great  that  it  was  impossible 
to  tell  whether  it  was  a  pleasurable  excitement  or  the 
reverse.  His  pale  skin  seemed  to  gleam  with  excite- 
ment; his  clothing  was  a  little  disarranged;  the  man 
looked  slightly  stunned. 

He  was  escorting  a  heavily  veiled  woman,  a  young 
woman  judging  from  her  figure  and  carriage,  and  they 
were  followed  by  such  an  oddly-assorted  group  as  you 
could  only  find  walking  together  in  that  building. 
Witnesses  obviously.  It  included  two  other  women, 
one  a  flashy,  pretty  little  thing,  with  hard,  assured  eyes, 
the  other  a  domestic  servant  apparently.  The  men 
ranged  all  the  way  from  a  highly  prosperous  gentle- 
man, a  banker  possibly,  down  to  a  couple  of  taxi-drivers 
and  a  farm  laborer.  The  word  went  around  the  gal- 
leries like  wildfire  that  there  was  something  up  in 
the  Counsell  case,  and  a  new  crowd  pressed  to  the  doors 
of  the  courtroom.  It  was  too  late  to  get  in.  Corveth 
left  his  witnesses  outside  where  they  remained  guarded 
by  a  couple  of  young  men  from  his  office  against  the 
questions  of  the  curious. 

Within  the  court-room  Corveth  was  seen  to  enter 
into  an  excited,  whispered  discussion  with  the  de- 
fendant. Corveth  was  the  excited  one.  Counsell  ap- 
peared to  be  trying  to  soothe  him.  Their  talk  was  in- 
terrupted by  the  entrance  of  the  Judge. 

When  the  proceedings  were  opened  Corveth  rose 
and  in  a  voice  that  trembled  oddly  said:  "If  it  please 
your  Honor  since  we  adjourned  important  new  evi- 
dence has  been  offered  to  me." 

The  judge  stared  and  bit  his  lip  in  irritation.  There 
were  so  many  cases  on  his  calendar  I  Were  they  all 


In  Chambers  289 

to  be  dragged  out  past  all  reason  by  the  lawyers! 
This  of  course  was  merely  the  grand  stand  play  of  a 
lawyer  with  a  bad  case.  To  do  him  justice,  his  Honor 
controlled  his  irritation  before  he  spoke. 

"Mr.  Corveth,  I  trust  you  have  taken  thought  of 
what  you  are  saying.  You  have  had  every  opportunity 
to  present  your  case." 

"Twelve  new  witnesses  have  just  been  brought  to 
me,  sir,  whose  existence  I  never  suspected." 

"Twelve !  How  could  that  be  ?  You  have  been 
studying  this  case  for  weeks.  In  what  manner  were 
new  witnesses  brought  to  you  at  this  late  date?" 

"They  were  brought  to  me  by  a  person  interested  in 
this  case,  who  has  been  conducting  an  investigation  un- 
known to  me." 

"And  you  say  their  evidence  is  important?" 

"Of  the  utmost  importance,  sir.  It  throws  an  en- 
tirely new  light  on  the  case." 

In  his  irritation  the  overworked  judge  was  under- 
stood to  mutter:  "I  doubt  itl" 

Corveth  flushed  crimson,  but  held  his  tongue. 

Observing  the  flush,  his  Honor  went  on  more  mildly, 
but  still  with  bitterness :  "Understand,  Mr.  Corveth, 
it  is  not  your  word  that  I  doubt,  but  only  your  esti- 
mate of  the  importance  of  this  evidence.  A  long  ex- 
perience on  the  bench  has  taught  me  that  matters  which 
appear  of  overwhelming  importance  to  opposing 
counsel,  have  a  way  of  shrinking  sadly  when  they  are 
brought  out  on  the  stand." 

A  titter  went  around  the  court-room.  The  gavel 
rapped  viciously. 


290  Ramshackle  House 

"Should  this  evidence  not  be  admitted  sir,  it  may 
put  the  State  to  the  expense  of  a  new  trial." 

The  Assistant  District  Attorney  was  on  his  feet. 
"I  object.  Surely  it  is  grossly  improper  for  Counsel 
to  make  such  statements  in  the  hearing  of  the  jury." 

"It  is  only  his  opinion,"  said  the  judge  wearily* 
"It  will  not  appear  in  the  record."  To  Corveth  he 
said:  "Well,  what  do  you  want  me  to  do?" 

"To  give  me  time  to  hear  these  persons'  stories,  sir. 
An  adjournment  until  to-morrow  morning." 

The  judge  said  nothing,  but  his  face  was  set  hard 
against  it. 

"Or  if  Mr.  Hackett  is  willing  to  go  on  with  his 
evidence  in  rebuttal,  I  only  ask  for  leave  to  re-open  my 
case  to-morrow.  I  can  sit  up  all  night." 

Mr.  Hackett  smiled  rather  pityingly.  "With  all 
respect  to  Counsel,"  he  said,  "I  don't  see  that  anything 
is  to  be  gained  by  going  on  if  Mr.  Corveth  is  going  to 
introduce  an  entirely  new  element." 

"I  agree  with  you,"  said  the  judge.  He  appeared  to 
have  made  up  his  mind.  "Mr.  Corveth,"  he  went  on, 
"you  realize  of  course  that  if  I  give  you  this  time  the 
District-Attorney  is  entitled  to  a  similar  indulgence. 
Where  would  we  end?  These  gentlemen  on  the  jury 
have  already  been  detained  from  their  homes  and  their 
businesses  for  many  days.  I  owe  them  the  greatest 
consideration.  I  must  have  some  further  assurance  of 
the  importance  of  your  evidence  before  I  can  consent 
to  any  delay.  You  say  this  story  has  just  been  told 
you  by  somebody.  Is  he  present?" 

"It  is  a  woman,  your  Honor.    She  is  present." 

The  court-room  pricked  up  its  ears. 


In  Chambers  291 

"Then  why  not  put  her  on  the  stand?" 

"It  would  be  useless,  your  Honor.  She  could  give 
little  or  no  direct  testimony  as  to  what  occurred.  She 
has  collected  the  testimony  and  brought  me  the  wit- 
nesses." 

"They  are  here,  too  ?  Then  put  your  principal  wit- 
ness on  the  stand.  I  will  give  you  as  much  latitude  as 
I  can  in  questioning  him.  And  if  anything  important 
transpires  I  will  grant  the  adjournment  you  ask  for." 

"I  thank  your  Honor.  Unfortunately,  as  I  under- 
stand it,  none  of  these  witnesses  can  tell  a  complete 
story  of  what  happened.  Each  one  can  only  add  a 
link  or  two  to  the  chain.  You  could  scarcely  judge 
from  the  testimony  of  any  one  of  them  how  important 
their  evidence  would  be  taken  collectively." 

His  Honor  sighed  for  patience,  and  bit  his  lip. 

"But  if  I  might  offer  a  suggestion,  sir  ...  ?" 

"Well?" 

"Could  you  not  request  the  jury  to  retire  and  hear 
this  lady's  story  in  your  chambers?  You  could  then 
decide  in  a  few  minutes  whether  or  not  it  warranted  an 
adjournment." 

His  Honor  tapped  his  desk  reflectively  with  a  pencil. 

The  Assistant-District-Attorney  was  protesting. 
"Your  Honor  whatever  may  come  of  this  matter,  an 
impression  is  being  created  here  highly  prejudicial  to 
the  case  of  the  people  ..." 

Corveth  interrupted  him:  "I  should  be  quite  willing 
to  have  Mr.  Hackett  present  while  this  lady  is  telling 
her  story,  so  that  he  may  have  the  fullest  opportunity 
to  meet  the  evidence  she  has  to  offer." 

This  more  than  anything  Corveth  had  said,  inclined 


292  Ramshackle  House 

the  judge  to  believe  that  he  really  had  something  up 
his  sleeve.  Moreover  it  was  a  generous  offer.  The 
judicial  face  thawed  a  little  on  defendant's  counsel. 
It  then  turned  to  the  jury. 

"Gentlemen  of  the  jury  I  will  ask  you  to  retire  for 
a  few  minutes  to  give  me  the  opportunity  of  deciding 
whether  this  evidence  is  material  to  the  case." 

The  jury  filed  out  in  one  direction,  and  his  honor 
went  the  other,  his  silken  robe  billowing  behind  him. 
The  court-room  buzzed  with  an  excited  whispering: 
"What  do  you  suppose  is  up?" 

Corveth  brought  the  veiled  woman  to  the  Judge's 
room  through  another  door.  "Chambers"  was  simply 
a  smallish  room  with  a  ceiling  so  lofty  that  it  gave  the 
effect  of  a  room  stood  up  on  the  wrong  end.  A  wide 
flat-topped  desk  filled  a  great  part  of  the  floor  space. 
His  Honor,  brought  down  from  the  eminence  of  his 
dais  was  revealed  as  a  smallish  man  with  a  wise,  humane 
face,  much  harassed  as  the  result  of  over-work.  In 
the  little  room  he  looked  much  more  human. 

He  waved  the  lady  to  a  chair  at  his  right  hand. 
Hackett,  with  a  cynical  expression,  lounged  in  a  chair 
by  the  window.  Corveth  was  too  nervous  to  sit.  As 
the  lady  seated  herself  she  threw  back  her  veil. 

"Miss  Broomel"  exclaimed  the  judge  in  surprise. 
"You  have  already  testified  in  this  case !"  He  looked 
reproachfully  at  Corveth.  Corveth  signed  to  him  to 
wait. 

"Did  you  not  tell  all  you  know?"  Judge  Stockman 
demanded. 

Pen  slowly  shook  her  head. 

"How  do  you  reconcile  that  with  your  conscience?" 


In  Chambers  293 

"I  answered  all  the  questions,"  she  said  softly.  "Mr. 
Corveth  could  not  ask  me  about  these  other  matters, 
because  he  knew  nothing  of  them." 

"But  you  are  acting  in  the  defendant's  interest,  I 
assume.  Surely  his  Counsel  had  a  right  to  know  what 
was  going  on." 

"It  was  not  from  any  lack  of  confidence  in  him,"  Pen 
said,  with  a  warm  glance  at  Corveth.  "It  would  have 
been  fatal  to  us  if  the  least  whisper  of  what  we  were 
doing  had  got  about  before  we  had  complete  proof. 
We  tried  our  best  to  obtain  a  postponement  of  the 
trial.  When  that  was  denied  it  was  very  difficult  to 
know  what  to  do.  Mr.  Counsell  decided,  and  I  agreed 
with  him,  that  we  must  go  ahead  and  keep  everything 
hidden.  We  did  not  tell  Mr.  Corveth  because  he  is 
too  honest  to  play  a  part.  If  he  had  known  what  we 
knew,  our  enemies  would  have  read  it  in  his  face  in- 
the  court-room.  If  we  have  acted  wrongly  I  hope 
you  will  remember  that  we  had  a  powerful  and  un- 
scrupulous enemy." 

His  Honor  did  not  appear  much  impressed,  though 
it  was  not  hidden  that  he  approved  of  Pen's  exterior. 
"And  do  you  think  you  have  complete  proof  now?" 
he  asked  with  an  indulgent  smile. 

"I  obtained  it  only  yesterday,  sir." 

"Well,  tell  me  what  you  expect  to  prove." 

Pen  looked  rather  helpless.  "Mr.  Corveth  said  I 
must  be  brief  .  .  .  There  is  so  much  to  tell.  .  .  I 
scarcely  know  where  to  begin.  .  ." 

Corveth  prompted  her.  "Tell  Judge  Stockman 
what  witnesses  you  have  brought  me  and  what  you 
expect  to  prove  by  each  one." 


~:  ' 


294  Ramshackle  House 

Pen  nodded.  "The  first  witness  will  be  a  young 
woman  named  Blanche  Paglar.  She  will  testify  that 
up  to  the  day  that  Collis  Dongan  was  shot  she  was 
friends  with  ...  I  mean  lived  with  ..."  She 
hesitated,  blushing. 

Corveth  helped  her  out  with  the  legal  euphemism. 

"Yes,  she  was  the  common-law-wife  of  a  young  man 
known  as  Spike  Talley.  She  will  testify  that  Talley 
told  her  at  this  time  that  he  had  undertaken  a  job  for 
a  rich  man,  whose  name  he  never  told  her,  and  that  he 
was  to  get  ten  thousand  dollars  for  it." 

"What!"  exclaimed  Judge  Stockman.  "What  sort 
of  job?" 

"Talley  was  what  is  called  a  gangster  or  a  gunman," 
said  Pen.  "When  they  say  'a  job'  they  mean  a  kill- 
ing, a  murder." 

"Good  Heavens!"  exclaimed  the  Judge.  "Do  you 
mean  to  say  you  have  had  to  associate  with  such 
people?" 

"They  were  kind  to  me,"  said  Pen  simply. 

"Go  on." 

"She  will  testify  that  Spike  Talley's  duties  in  connec- 
tion with  his  'job'  necessitated  his  putting  on  dress 
clothes  every  evening  and  going  to  a  certain  fashionable 
hotel  to  dine.  He  never  told  her  the  name  of  the  hotel, 
but  on  one  occasion  he  brought  her  a  menu-card  with 
the  name  torn  off.  That  card  will  be  identified  as  one 
from  the  Hotel  Warrington." 

"Ha!"  exclaimed  his  Honor  as  the  connection  be- 
gan to  show. 

"Talley  also  told  her  that  his  'boss'  gave  him  a 
drink  of  whiskey  every  time  he  went  to  his  house.  He 


In  Chambers  295 

described  to  her  how  it  stood  on  the  sideboard  in  a 
handsome,  square,  cut-glass  bottle,  and  how  he  was 
always  invited  to  help  himself." 

"The  importance  of  this  will  appear  later,"  mur- 
mured Corveth. 

Pen  went  on:  "Blanche  will  testify  that  Spike 
Talley  left  her  for  the  last  time  on  the  afternoon  of 
May  2yth,  the  day  of  the  murder.  Some  days  later 
she  reported  his  disappearance  to  the  police.  They 
could  find  no  trace  of  him,  if  indeed  they  ever  looked. 
Blanche  never  connected  his  disappearance  with  the 
death  of  Collis  Dongan,  because  the  newspapers  made 
out  from  the  beginning  that  it  was  certain  Mr.  Counsel! 
had  committed  that  crime."  \| 

His  Honor  was  now  thoroughly  interested  in  Pen's 

story.     Even  Assistant-District-Attorney  Hackett  had 

lost  a  good  deal  of  his  scornful  air.    The  judge  said: 

i,.    "But  if  this  Talley  has  disappeared  can  you  prove 

anything?" 

"You'll  see,  sir.  .  .  The  next  witness  is  a  taxi-driver 
who  was  a  friend  of  Spike  Talley's.  He  will  testify 
that  at  this  time  Talley  came  to  his  garage  every  even- 
ing and  engaged  the  witness  to  drive  him  up  to  the 
Hotel  Warrington.  I  could  prove  by  waiters  in  the 
hotel  that  Talley  dined  there  every  evening — they 
have  identified  his  photograph,  but  Mr.  Corveth  says 
it  will  hardly  be  necessary,  because  the  next  witness, 
Mr.  Slaughter,  would  carry  more  weight. 

"Mr.  Slaughter  is  a  gentleman  of  means  and  po- 
sition who  resides  at  the  Warrington.  He  will  tell 
how  he  became  acquainted  with  Talley  through  seeing 
him  dine  at  the  next  table.  Talley  was  a  young  man 


296  Ramshackle  House 

of  much  charm  of  manner.  Mr.  Slaughter  never  sus- 
pected what  he  was.  The  two  became  quite  friendly, 
and  on  a  number  of  occasions  after  dinner,  Mr. 
Slaughter  invited  Talley  up  to  his  apartment  which  was 
on  the  same  floor  as  Mr.  Dongan's  and  Mr.  Coun- 
sell's.  Mr.  Slaughter  will  further  testify  how  on  one 
occasion  he  discovered  Talley.  .  .  what  would  you 
say  .  .  .  flirting  with  the  hotel  maid  on  that  floor, 
and  remonstrated  with  him.  Talley  passed  it  off  with 
a  laugh.  Talley  visited  him  for  the  last  time  on  the 
hight  of  the  murder. 

"The  next  witness  will  be  the  maid,  Mary  Crehan. 
She  will  tell  how  Talley  'made  up  to  her'  as  she  says, 
and  how  on  one  occasion  he  took  her  to  a  moving  pic- 
ture theater.  It  appears  from  what  she  recollects  of 
their  conversation  that  Talley  was  pumping  her  for 
information  as  to  the  lay-out  of  Mr.  Dongan's  apart- 
ment, and  Mr.  Counsell's,  and  information  as  to  the 
habits  of  the  two  men.  But  he  did  this  so  adroitly 
that  the  girl  never  thought  of  connecting  him  later 
with  the  shooting.  She  will  testify  how  one  evening 
after  having  talked  with  Talley  in  the  corridor,  she 
missed  her  keys.  It  never  entered  her  head  that  the 
fashionably-dressed  young  gentleman  had  anything  to 
do  with  it.  She  found  them  the  next  night  in  the  cup- 
board on  that  floor  where  she  was  accustomed  to  leave 
them  upon  going  off  duty.  The  bunch  consisted  of 
half  a  dozen  master  keys  which  would  admit  her  to 
any  apartment  on  that  floor. 

"The  next  witness  is  a  locksmith,  an  acquaintance  of 
Talley's,  who  will  identify  the  maid's  keys  as  the  same 
bunch  brought  to  him  by  Talley  to  be  duplicated.  He 


In  Chambers  297 

did  duplicate  them,  and  handed  both  sets  to  Talley. 
This  was  about  ten  days  before  the  murder. 

"The  next  witness  is  another  taxi-driver  who  had  no 
acquaintance  with  Talley,  but  is  prepared  to  identify 
his  photograph  as  that  of  a  man  who  engaged  him  out- 
side the  Hotel  Warrington  about  midnight  on  May 
27th." 

"Midnight?"  interrupted  Judge  Stockman.  "That 
was  after  the  murder.  Can't  you  connect  this  Talley 
directly  with  the  deed?" 

"No,  sir.  He  was  too  clever  .  .  .  Besides  that 
was  not  my  principal  object.  I  was  looking  for  proof 
against  his  employer." 

"Oh,  do  you  know  him  too?" 

Pen  nodded. 

"Go  ahead." 

"This  taxi-cab  driver  could  not  at  first  remember 
the  address  to  which  he  had  driven  Talley,  but  he 
gave  us  the  locality,  and  when  we  drove  with  him 
through  the  streets  of  that  neighborhood  he  unhesi- 
tatingly picked  out  the  house." 

"How  could  he  do  that?" 

"Well,  it  was  a  peculiar  looking  house;  different 
from  any  other  in  the  neighborhood,  from  any  other 
in  town  probably.  It  is  in  Thirty-Ninth  street,  East 
of  Lexington." 

"Go  on." 

"He  stalled  his  engine  and  had  to  get  out  of  his 
car  to  start  it.  Thus  he  saw  Talley  admitted  to  the 
house,  and  had  a  glimpse  of  the  man  who  admitted 
him.  Out  of  a  number  of  photographs  handed  him  he 


298  Ramshackle  House 

picked  out  one  which  he  is  ready  to  swear  is  that  of 
the  man  who  admitted  Talley." 

"He  could  have  got  but  the  briefest  of  glances." 

"But  it  is  of  a  striking-looking  man,  your  Honor." 

"What  next?" 

Pen  said  slowly :  "Talley  was  never  seen  alive  after 
that." 

"What!"  exclaimed  Judge  Stockman,  "you  charge 
a  second  murder !  .  .  .  Go  on." 

"For  many  days  we  could  get  no  further,"  Pen  said. 
"Finally  one  of  Talley's  friends  volunteered  to  break 
into  that  house  to  look  for  evidence." 

"But  this  is  burglary!" 

"The  witness,  known  as  Babe  Riordan,  is  prepared 
to  waive  immunity  when  he  goes  on  the  stand.  If  a 
charge  is  laid  against  him  he  will  stand  his  trial." 

"Did  he  find  anything  in  the  house?" 

"He  found  the  square,  cut-glass  whiskey  bottle  on 
the  sideboard.  It  had  been  emptied,  but  we  took  it 
to  a  chemist,  our  next  witness,  who  is  prepared  to 
testify  that  it  contained  well  defined  traces  of  cyanide." 

His  Honor  frowned.  "Dubious  evidence !"  he  said. 
"Even  suppose  a  jury  were  inclined  to  believe  the 
chemist,  how  would  they  know  but  that  the  last  witness, 
a  self-confessed  burglar,  remember,  did  not  put  the 
poison  in  the  bottle  himself?" 

"There  is  more  evidence,"  said  Pen.  "It  appears 
that  according  to  the  law  a  druggist  may  not  sell  such 
poisons  without  a  doctor's  prescription.  A  search  was 
conducted  through  the  various  drug-stores  in  the 
neighborhood,  and  several  prescriptions  for  qranide 


In  Chambers  299 

traced  back.  One  was  traced  to  the  man  who  occupies 
that  house  on  Thirty-Ninth  street." 

"The  man  identified  by  the  second  taxi-driver  as 
he  who  admitted  Talley  to  the  house?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Ah  then,  you're  getting  closer  to  it.  Who  is  this 
man?" 

Pen  hesitated.  "Mr.  Corveth  told  me  that  his  name 
should  not  be  mentioned  at  this  trial." 

His  Honor  looked  a  little  nonplussed.  ".  .  .  Er 
.  .  .  well  perhaps  not  .  .  .  perhaps  not  I  Have  you 
more  evidence  against  him?" 

"We  can  show  that  three  days  before  the  murder 
he  drew  ten  thousand  dollars  in  cash  from  the  bank." 

"Ah,  the  price  named  by  the  first  witness.  But  what 
good  will  that  do  you  if  it  is  your  contention  that  he 
murdered  his  tool  instead  of  paying  him?" 

"Because  we  can  show  that  the  day  after  the  murder 
he  re-deposited  the  amount  in  another  bank." 

"Ah!     Anything  else?" 

"Our  next  task  of  course  was  to  try  to  prove  what 
had  become  of  Talley's  body.  This  took  us  many 
more  days." 

"You  engaged  detectives  to  help  you?" 

"No,  sir.  I  hadn't  money  enough.  But  all  of 
Spike  Talley's  friends  helped  me.  They  proved  them- 
selves as  good  detectives  as  professionals." 

"But  they  are  only  making  out  their  friend  to  be  a 
murderer!" 

"They  seem  not  to  mind  that.  According  to  their 
code  he  was  simply  doing  his  job.  Instead  of  getting 
his  pay  for  it  he  was  murdered.  They  wish  to  avenge 


3OO  Ramshackle  House 

him  by  helping  to  convict  his  murderer.  I  might  say 
that  if  it  was  not  for  me  they  would  probably  choose 
a  more  direct  way  of  avenging  him,  but  I  have  per- 
suaded them  that  it  would  be  a  much  more  terrible 
punishment  to  bring  the  murderer  into  court." 

His  Honor  wagged  his  head.  "You  have  been  keep- 
ing strange  company,  young  lady  I" 

"I  had  no  choice,  sir." 

"I  suppose  you  know  that  these  gunmen,  gangsters, 
burglars  and  so  on  are  not  very  credible  witnesses." 

"They  are  not  my  principal  witnesses,  sir.  I  rely 
chiefly  on  Mr.  Slaughter,  the  different  professional 
men,  the  servants,  the  second  taxi-driver,  all  of  whom 
are  obviously  disinterested." 

"Where  did  you  get  so  much  information  about 
what  constitutes  evidence  and  so  on." 

"We  had  legal  advice,  sir.  Not  from  Mr.  Corveth, 
but  from  another  lawyer,  who  once  defended  Spike 
Talley." 

"Go  on." 

"We  had  the  house  on  Thirty-Ninth  street  searched 
from  top  to  bottom  without  discovering  any  clues  as 
to  what  became  of  the  body.  It  was  not  until  we  went 
to  Mr.  ...  to  the  rich  man's  country  place,  that  we 
began  to  make  progress.  We  learned  there,  that  two 
days  after  the  murder,  that  was  Sunday,  the  owner 
brought  a  barrel  up  from  the  city  in  the  back  of  his 
automobile.  He  informed  his  servants  that  it  con- 
tained a  new  poison  with  which  he  intended  to  spray 
his  fruit  trees — I  should  explain  that  he  is  an  ex- 
tensive raiser  of  fruit,  and  under  his  supervision  the 
barrel  was  put  in  a  little  shed  in  one  of  the  orchards 


In  Chambers  301 

where  the  spraying  apparatus,  the  poisons  and  so  on 
were  kept." 

"Can't  you  establish  a  connection  between  the  barrel 
and  the  house  on  Thirty-Ninth  street?" 

"To  a  certain  extent,  yes.  When  we  learned  of  the 
barrel  some  of  us  went  back  to  the  Thirty-Ninth  street 
neighborhood  to  investigate.  We  have  a  grocer  who 
will  testify  that  he  sold  such  an  empty  barrel  to  the 
man  in  question,  who  was  particular  to  see  that  he  got 
a  perfectly  fitting  head  to  the  barrel.  He  told  the 
grocer  he  wanted  to  ship  some  china  up  to  his  country 
place.  He  carried  the  barrel  away  in  his  car." 

"Did  the  grocer  know  the  man  who  bought  the 
barrel?" 

"No,  sir.  But  he  can  identify  the  man.  And  de- 
scribe the  car." 

"Well,  assuming  that  the  barrel  contained  a  body 
when  it  arrived  at  the  country  place,  what  became  of 
it  after  that?" 

"We  have  one  of  the  rich  man's  laborers  to  testify 
to  that.  On  the  following  day,  Monday,  this  man  was 
ordered  to  assist  his  master  in  one  of  the  orchards. 
The  day  is  fixed  in  the  man's  mind  because  it  was 
Decoration  Day  and  he  was  disappointed  of  getting 
a  holiday.  I  should  tell  you  that  the  rich  man  per- 
sonally supervised  his  orchards  and  often  worked  in 
them  himself,  so  that  his  actions  on  this  day  excited 
no  particular  remark  among  his  servants.  He  ordered 
the  laborer  to  gather  up  all  the  piles  of  twigs  and 
branches  which  had  been  pruned  in  that  particular  or- 
chard during  the  winter,  and  make  one  great  pile  to 
be  burned.  He  pointed  out  a  spot  of  waste  ground  at 


3O2  Ramshackle  House 

a  little  distance  from  the  trees  where  the  fire  was  to 
be  made.  He  then  went  away. 

"He  returned  to  the  orchard  when  the  work  was 
done.  He  then  had  a  small  can  of  coal  oil.  His 
laborer  ventured  to  remonstrate  with  him  on  the 
danger  of  making  so  great  a  fire,  but  his  master  curdy 
replied  that  he  knew  what  he  was  about.  He  sent 
the  laborer  on  an  errand  to  a  distant  part  of  the  estate, 
saying  that  he  would  remain  to  watch  the  fire.  The 
laborer  after  his  rebuke,  with  a  natural  hope  perhaps 
that  the  fire  would  get  beyond  his  master,  concealed 
himself  behind  some  shrubbery  at  a  little  distance  and 
watched. 

"He  saw  his  master  go  to  the  spraying  house,  bring 
out  the  barrel  (he  will  testify  that  there  was  no  other 
barrel  of  that  sort  in  the  house)  and  roll  it  down  the 
orchard  to  the  great  heap  of  branches.  He  saw  him 
place  it  in  the  center  of  the  pile,  pour  coal  oil  all 
around,  and  set  it  afire.  When  the  flames  sprang  up, 
the  master  began  to  look  about  him  suspiciously,  and 
the  laborer  fearing  discovery,  hastened  away  and  saw 
no  more.  He  told  what  he  had  seen  to  his  mates,  but 
it  does  not  appear  that  any  of  them  suspected  that  a 
crime  had  occurred.  All  their  master's  actions  ap- 
peared to  them  so  arbitrary  and  eccentric  they  never 
tried  to  explain  them.  As  one  of  them  said,  'You 
never  knew  what  the  boss  was  going  to  do  next !' ' 

"Have  you  anything  more?"  asked  the  judge. 

"Yes,  sir.  I  will  be  the  next  witness.  I  will  tell 
how  the  laborer  took  me  to  the  spot  where  the  fire  had 
been,  and  how  I  searched  it.  Several  weeks  had 
passed,  and  the  rains  had  leached  out  the  ashes,  but 


In  Chambers  303 

the  place  had  not  been  disturbed  by  a  rake  or  culti- 
vator." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"In  the  center  where  the  heat  had  been  greatest 
there  was  nothing  but  washed  out  ashes,  but  all  around 
the  edge  were  the  unconsumed  ends  of  twigs  and 
branches  looking  as  if  they  had  been  arranged  in  an 
exact  circle  with  all  the  charred  ends  pointing  to  the 
center.  I  searched  every  square  inch  of  the  spot  while 
the  laborer  watched  me." 

"Where  was  the  master  of  the  place?" 

"Oh,  I  took  care  to  inform  myself  beforehand  that 
he  was  not  going  to  be  there  at  that  time." 

"And  you  found  .    .    .  ?" 

"Some  little  burned  lumps  of  bone,  but  it  was  im- 
possible to  say  of  what.  A  little  lump  of  gold  that 
might  have  been  a  finger  ring — Talley  wore  such  a 
ring,  but  it  had  melted  into  a  shapeless  lump.  A  piece 
of  scorched  fabric  barely  recognizable  as  part  of  the 
brim  of  a  man's  silk  hat.  Finally,  in  a  slight  depres- 
sion where  water  had  gathered,  part  of  a  jawbone  in 
which  six  teeth  were  still  fairly  intact." 

The  Judge  shook  his  head  frowning.  "Scarcely  con- 
clusive !  Scarcely  conclusive  1" 

"There  is  one  more  witness,  sir,"  said  Pen.  "Con- 
siderable dental  work  had  been  done  on  the  teeth,  and 
the  fillings  were  still  intact.  One  of  the  teeth  it  ap- 
peared was  false,  and  it  had  been  fastened  to  its  fellows 
on  either  side  in  an  ingenious  fashion." 

"Hal" 

"Talley  it  appeared  was  vain  of  his  personal  ap- 
pearance, and  employed  a  first-class  dentist.  The 


304  Ramshackle  House 

dentist  is  prepared  to  go  on  the  stand  and  swear  from 
the  work  on  the  teeth  that  this  is  a  part  of  Talley's 
jaw." 

"From  memory?" 

"No,  sir.  He  is  a  modern  dentist.  He  will  offer 
his  record  in  evidence,  which  includes  diagrams  of  the 
man's  mouth,  showing  the  work  he  did  en  it  from  time 
to  time." 

Judge  Talley  forgetting  judicial  calm  jumped  up. 
"Hal  then  you  have  a  case!"  he  cried.  "Eh,  Mr. 
Hackett?" 

"If  it  can  be  proved  to  the  satisfaction  of  a  jury," 
said  the  Assistant-District-Attorney  sourly. 

Judge  Stockman  paced  slowly  up  and  down.  "This 
is  extraordinary  ....  extraordinary!"  he  mur- 
mured. He  came  to  a  stand  in  front  of  Pen.  "Miss 
Broome,  has  this  man  been  in  court?" 

"No,  sir.  But  his  representatives  are  always  there. 
I  don't  doubt  but  he  receives  hourly  reports  of  the 
proceedings." 

"I  think  you  had  better  tell  me  the  name  of  the 
man  you  accuse.  Not  with  any  idea  of  injecting  it  into 
this  case,  but  simply  that  precautions  may  be  taken 
against  his  escape.  The  police  should  be  notified." 

Pen  looked  at  Corveth,  who  nodded. 

"It  is  Ernest  Riever,"  she  said. 

The  effect  on  the  two  men  was  electrical.  Hackett 
jumped  to  his  feet,  and  supported  himself  with  a  hand 
on  the  back  of  his  chair. 

"Impossible!"  he  cried. 

Judge  Stockman  in  his  amazement  was  staring  at 
Pen  almost  clownishly.  "Riever  .  .  .  1"  he  stammered. 


In  Chambers  305 

"Riever!  .  .  .  Have  you  thought  of  what  you  are 
saying!" 

A  little  flame  of  indignation  was  lighted  in  Pen's 
cheeks.  "If  he  did  it,  does  it  make  any  difference 
who  he  is?" 

"Certainly  not!  Certainly  not!  .  .  .  But  Rieverl 
.  .  .  We  must  be  very  sure!  This  would  cause  the 
greatest  sensation  of  our  time !" 

"Best  to  proceed  very  slowly,  sir!"  said  Hackett, 
pale  with  agitation. 

"I  have  nothing  to  do  with  it!"  said  Judge  Stock- 
man with  undisguised  relief.  "My  duty  is  simply  to 
try  Counsell.  The  rest  is  up  to  the  District-Attorney." 

"No  motive  has  been  established,"  said  Hackett. 

"True!  True!"  The  Judge  turned  almost  ac- 
cusingly to  Pen.  "What  possible  reason  could  Riever 
have  had?" 

Corveth  answered  for  her.  "I  take  it,  it  is  not  neces- 
sary to  go  into  Riever's  motives  in  this  trial.  But  we 
are  prepared  to  show  a  motive  just  the  same.  Do  you 
remember  the  Riever  divorce  case  three  years  ago?" 

"Dimly." 

"It  was  a  counter-suit.  Mrs.  Riever  won.  Riever's 
case  rested  principally  on  a  letter  that  he  produced 
in  court.  It  had  been  written  by  Mrs.  Riever  to  some 
unnamed  man.  We  can  show  that  it  had  been  written 
to  Counsell,  and  that  Riever  knew  it  had." 

The  judge  stared.  "Then  your  contention  is  that 
Riever  had  this  inoffensive  man  Dongan  killed  merely 
so  that  he  could  get  back  at  Counsell?" 

"There  is  more  evidence  on  that  point  besides  what 
Miss  Broome  has  brought  out  here.  I  don't  need  to 


306  Ramshackle  House 

point  out  to  you  how  nearly  Ricver  succeeded  in  his 
object." 

"Good  God  I"  exclaimed  Judge  Stockman. 

"That  would  be  something  new  in  criminal  juris- 
prudence," sneered  Hackett. 

"But  not  entirely  unprecedented,"  corrected  the 
breathless  judge.  "There  was  the  famous  Anstey 
case  so  often  quoted  when  I  was  a  young  lawyer.  And 
of  more  recent  years  the  cases  of  the  People  vs. 
Reichardt  and  the  People  vs.  Bowley  .  .  .  But  good 
God!  ...  Rierer  .  .  .  1" 

The  little  judge  seemed  to  have  been  brought  to 
a  complete  stand.  He  stared  ahead  of  him  muttering: 
"Ernest  Rierer!  .  .  .  Good  God!  .  .  .  What  a  sen- 
sation will  be  caused  .  .  .  !" 

Corveth  said:  "That  is  all  Miss  Broome  had  to 
tell  you,  sir." 

It  brought  the  judge  to  himself  with  a  start.  "To 
be  sure  I  To  be  sure !"  he  said,  and  cleared  his  throat. 
He  looked  his  age.  "I  will  adjourn  court  until  to- 
morrow morning.  Mr.  Hackett,  you  will  get  in  touch 
with  the  police  I  suppose.  If  I  were  you,  I  would  not 
take  more  than  one  man  into  my  confidence,  say  In- 
spector Durdan  of  the  detective  bureau." 

Hackett  bowed  in  acquiescence. 

"Gentlemen,  let  us  return  to  the  court-room." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

EXTRA! 
From  the  New  York  Courier,  July  27th,  192 — 

AT  3.40  this  afternoon  Ernest  Rievcr  was  found 
dead  in  a  house  he  occasionally  occupied  at — 
East  39th  street,  this  city.  He  had  shot  himself  through 
the  head. 

The  sensational  developments  in  the  Counsell  case 
during  the  past  two  days  were  brought  to  a  still  more 
sensational  conclusion  this  afternoon  when  Ernest 
Riever  was  discovered  to  have  killed  himself.  Ever 
since  yesterday  morning  it  has  been  an  open  secret 
around  town  that  Riever  was  the  unnamed  millionaire 
so  often  referred  to  in  the  new  evidence  brought  for- 
ward in  Counsell's  defense.  It  now  appears  that 
Riever  has  been  under  the  surveillance  of  the  police  for 
three  days,  and  this  afternoon  detective  officers  were 
sent  to  the  above  address  to  arrest  him.  Their  ring- 
ing at  the  door  elicited  no  response,  and  as  the  men 
who  had  been  detailed  to  trail  Riever  insisted  that  he 
was  in  the  house,  an  entrance  was  forced. 

Mr.  Riever  was  discovered  lying  in  his  dining-room 
with  an  automatic  pistol  in  his  hand.  There  was  no- 
body else  in  the  house.  He  had  held  the  pistol  under 
his  chin  pointing  upward.  There  was  smoke  in  the 
room,  and  the  body  was  warm,  indicating  that  the  deed 

307 


308  Ramshackle  House 

was  done  as  the  officers  rang  the  bell.  Death  was  in- 
stantaneous. So  ends  one  of  the  strangest  stories  that 
has  ever  come  to  light  in  our  courts. 

Mr.  Riever's  self-inflicted  death  renders  the  ac- 
quittal of  Counsell  merely  a  matter  of  form.  It  is  said 
that  the  District-Attorney  will  now  make  no  effort  to 
refute  the  testimony  tending  to  show  that  Collis  Don- 
gan  was  shot  by  an  agent  acting  under  Riever's  in- 
structions. The  jury  is  expected  to  bring  in  a  verdict 
without  leaving  their  seats. 


CHAPTER  XV 

POSTSCRIPT 

DON'T  drive  so  fast  Don !  It  makes  my  hair  rise 
the  way  you  take  these  curves  1" 

"I'll  try  to  remember  .  .  .  Lord!  but  it's  good  to 
have  an  accelerator  under  your  big  toe  again!  .  .  . 
This  lil'  ole  bus  is  about  all  I  own,  Pen!" 

"You'll  soon  get  a  fresh  start,  now  .  .  .  You're 
driving  just  as  fast  as  ever!" 

"Sorry !  I  feel  as  if  that  mob  was  still  behind  us. 
Wasn't  it  ghastly!" 

"But  they  were  friendly!" 

"Oh,  friendly!  Three  days  ago  they  would  just 
as  lief  have  strung  me  up  to  a  lamp-post.  I  could  feel 
it  in  the  court-room." 

"Well,  don't  you  suppose  it  was  a  feeling  that  they 
had  been  unjust  to  you  that  made  them  cheer  so  to-day 
when  you  appeared?" 

"I  hope  so.  I  don't  trust  mobs.  .  .  Lord!  when 
I  came  out  and  saw  them  massed  in  the  street  from 
curb  to  curb  .  .  .  thousands !  .  .  .  I  could  feel  myself 
turning  pea-green!  I  had  no  idea  I  had  become  so 
famous." 

"They  have  been  reading  about  nothing  else  for 
days." 

"What  a  lot  of  idle  people  there  must  be!" 

"I  don't  think  it's  idleness  altogether.  But  noth- 

309 


310  Ramshackle  House 

ing  ever  happens  t«  them.  They  only  live  in  the  news, 
papers." 

"A  good  many  cars  followed  us  out  of  town.  When 
they  saw  which  way  we  were  heading  I  suppose  they'll 
wire  the  news,  anal  cheering  crowds  will  be  waiting  for 
us  .  .  ." 

"Oh,  Don!" 

"I'll  fool,  'em  I  I'll  circle  around  outside  Phila- 
delphia and  all  the  big  towns." 

"It's  horribly  immoral  our  running  off  together  in 


a  car." 


"Oh,  what  do  morals  matter  after  what  we've  been 
through  together!  .    .    .  We  couldn't  get  married  in 
New  York  with  that  mob  at  our  heels.    We  can  get 
hitched  up  wherever  we  happen  to  stop  I  suppose." 
"You  take  it  coolly  I" 

"I  take  it  as  a  matter  of  course  .  .  .  Shouldn't  I?" 
"I  don't  want  to  be  rushed  into  it!" 
"Pen!  .  .   .  Have  you  any  doubts  of  me?" 
"No!     How  can  you  say  such  a  thing!" 
"Then  what  is  it?  .    .   .  What  brings  the  tears  to 
your  eyes,  dearest?" 

"Nothing!  .  .  .  Only  I  want  to  be  quiet  when  I 
am  married!  ...  I  want  to  be  quiet!  .  .  .  Things 
are  still  roaring  about  me !" 

"Would  you  like  me  to  take  you  home  first?" 
"No!    I  don't  want  you  to  leave  me!" 
"Look  out!     You'll  have  us  in  the  ditch!    .    .    . 
What  is  it,  dearest?     It's  immoral  our  going  away 
together.     But  you  don't  want  to  marry  me  yet.     But 
I  mustn't  leave  you  either!" 

"Oh,  don't  expect  me  to  talk  reasonably!  ...  I 


Postscript  311 

don't  want  to  talk  .  .  .  Marry  me  whenever  you  like, 
but  don't  talk  about  it  ...  I  just  want  to  be 
quiet  .  .  .  with  you  I" 

"Suits  me !  I'll  bring  you  to  quiet.  I  know  a  little 
place  in  the  Virginia  foothills  .  .  .  Oh,  my  Pen  1  ... 
Look  behind  us!" 

"Why?" 

"Is  there  anybody  in  sight?" 

"No!" 

"I'm  going  to  stop  for  a  moment.  Do  you  realize  I 
haven't  kissed  you  yet?" 


THE  END 


The  greatest  pleasure  in  life  is 
that  of  reading,  tf^hy  not  then 
own  the  books  of  great  novelists 
when  the  price  is  so  small 


C  Of  all  the  amusements  -which  can  possibly 
be  imagined  for  a  hard-working  man,  after 
his  daily  toil,  or,  in  ite  intervals,  there  is 
nothing  like  reading  an  entertaining  book. 
It  calls  for  no  bodily  exertion.  It  transports 
him  into  a  livelier,  and  gayer,  and  more  di- 
versified and  interesting  scene,  and  while  he 
enjoys  himself  there  he  may  forget  the  evils 
of  the  present  moment.  Nay,  it  accompanies 
him  to  his  next  day's  work,  and  gives  him 
something  to  think  of  besides  the  mere 
mechanical  drudgery  of  his  every-day  occu- 
pation— something  he  can  enjoy  while  absent, 
and  look  forward  with  pleasure  to  return  to. 

Ask  your  dealer  for  a  list  of  the  titles 
in    Burt's    Popular    Priced    Fiction 


In  buying  the  books  bearing  the 
<A.  L.  Burt  Company  imprint 
you  are  assured  of  wholesome)  en- 
tertaining and  instructive  reading 


THE   BEST  OF   RECENT   FICTION 

Poisoned  Paradise,  The.  Robert  W.  Service.  (Photoplay  Ed.). 

Portygee,    The.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Possession.    Olive  Wadsley. 

Postmaster,  The.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Prairie  Child,  The.    Arthur  Stringer. 

Prairie  Flowers.    James  B.  Hendryx. 

Prairie  Mother,  The.    Arthur  Stringer. 

Prairie  Wife,  The.    Arthur  Stringer. 

Pretender,  The.    Robert  W.  Service. 

Prince  of  Sinners,  A.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Prodigal  Daughters,  The.    Joseph  Hocking.  (Photoplay  Ed.). 

Prodigal  Son.     Hall  Caine.     (Photoplay  Ed.). 

Profiteers,  The.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Promise,  The.    J.  B.  Hendryx 

Public  Square,  The.    Will  Levington  Comfort. 

Purple  Mask,  Thet     Louise  Jordan  Miln. 

Purple  Pearl,  The.    Anthony  Pryde. 

Quemado.    William  West  Winter. 

Quest  of  the  Sacred  Slipper,  The.    Sax  Rohmer. 

Quill's  Window.    George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

Rainbow's  End,  The.     Rex  Beach. 

Rainbow  Valley.     L.  M.  Montgomery. 

Ramshackle  House,    Hulbert  Footner. 

Ranch  at  the  Wolverine,  The.    B.  M.  Bower, 

Ranching  for  Sylvia.     Harold  Bindloss. 

Rangy  Pete.  Guy  Morton. 

Raspberry  Jam,    Carolyn  Wells. 

Reclaimers,  The.     Margaret  Hill  McCarter. 

Re-Creation  of  Brian  Kent,  The.    Harold  Bell  Wright 

Red  and  Black.     Grace  S.   Richmond. 

Red  Pepper  Burns,    Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Red  Pepper's  Patients.    Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Red  Seal,  The.     Natalie  Sumner  Lincoln. 

Restless  Sex,  The.    Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Return  of  Dr.  Fu-Manchu,  The.    Sax  Rohmer. 

Return  of  Frank  Clamart,  The.     Henry  C.  Rowland. 

Return  of  Tarzan  The.    Edgar  Rice  Burroughs. 

Riddle  of  the  Frozen  Flame  The.    M.  E.  and  T.  W.  Hanshew. 

Riddle  of  the  Mysterious   Light   The.     M.   E,   and  T.    W. 

Hanshew. 
Riddle  of  the   Purple  Emperor  The,      M.    E.   and   T.    W. 

Hanshew. 
Riddle   of  the   Spinning   Wheel,   The.     M.    E.   and   T.   W. 

Hanshew. 


AT     rA      POPU  LrAR      P  R  I'C E 

Rider  of  the  Golden  Bar,  The.    William  Patterson  White, 

Rider  of  the  King  Log,  The.    Holman  Day. 

Rider  o'  the  Stars.    R.  J.  Horton. 

Riders  of  the  Silences.    John  Frederick. 

Rilla  of  Ingleside.     L.  M.  Montgomery. 

Rimrock  Trail.    J.  Allan  Dunn. 

Rise  of  Roscoe  Paine,  The.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

River  Trail,  The.    Laurie  Y.  Erskine. 

Robin.     Frances  Hodgson  Burnett. 

Rocks  of  Valpre,  The.    Ethel  M.  Dell. 

Rogues  of  the  North.    Albert  M.  Treynor. 

Romance  of  a  Million  Dollars,  The.    Elizabeth  Dejeans. 

Rosa  Mundi.    Ethel  M.  Dell. 

Rose  of  Santa  Fe,  The.    Edwin  L.  Sabin. 

Round  the  Corner  in  Gay  Street.    Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Round-Up,  The.    Oscar  J.  Friend. 

Rung  Ho!    Talbot  Mundy. 

Rustler  of  Wind  River,  The.       G.  W.  Ogden. 

St  Elmo.  (111.    Ed.)  Augusta  J.  Evans. 

Sand.    Olive  Wadsley. 

Scarlet  Iris,  The.    Vance  Thompson. 

Scattergood  Baines.     Clarence  Budington  Kelland. 

Second  Violin,  The.    Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Secret  Power,  The.    Marie  Corelli. 

Self- Raised.   (111).     Mrs.  South  worth. 

Settling  of  the  Sage.    Hal  G.  Evarts. 

Seven  Ages  of  Woman,  The.    Compton  Mackenzie, 

Seven  Darlings,  The.     Gouverneur  Morris. 

Seventh  Man,  The.     Max  Brand. 

Shadow  of  the  East,  The.    E.  M.  Hull.    (Photoplay  Ed.). 

Shadow  on  the  Glass,  The.    Charles  J.  Dutton. 

Shavings.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Sheik,  The.     E.  M.  Hull. 

Sheila  of  Big  Wreck  Cove.    James  H.  Cooper. 

Shepherd  of  the  Hills,  The.    Harold  Bell  Wright 

Shepherds  of  the  Wild.     Edison  Marshall. 

Sheriff  of  Dyke  Hole,  The.    Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Sherry.    George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

Shoe-Bar  Stratton.     Joseph  B.  Ames. 

Sight  Unseen,  and  The  Confession.    Mary  Roberts  Rinehart. 

Silver  Horde,  The.    Rex  Beach. 

Silver  Poppy,  The.    Arthur  Stringer. 

Singing  Bone,  The.     R.  Austin  Freeman. 

Singing  Wells,  Tha     Roland  Pertwee. 


THE   BEST  OF   RECENT   FICTION 

Sinister  Mark,  The.    Lee  Thayer. 

Sin  That  Was  His,  The.    Frank  L,  Packard. 

Sir  or  Madam.    Berta  Ruck. 

Sisters-in-Law.    Gertrude  Atherton. 

Sky  Line  of  Spruce.     Edison  Marshall. 

Slayer  of  Souls,  The.    Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Smiles:  A  Rose  of  the  Cumberlands,    Eliot  H.  Robinson. 

Snowdrift.    James  B.  Hendryx. 

Snowshoe  Trail,  The.     Edison  Marshall. 

Son  of  His  Father,  The.    Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Son  of  Tarzan,  The.    Edgar  Rice  Burroughs. 

Souls  for  Sale.     Rupert  Hughes.     (Photoplay  Ed.). 

Speckled  Bird,  A.     Augusta  Evans  Wilson. 

Spirit  of  the  Border,  The.     Zane  Grey.     (New  Edition). 

Spirit-of-Iron.     Harwood  Steele. 

Spoilers,  The.     Rex  Beach.     (Photoplay  Ed.). 

Spoilers  of  the  Valley,  The.    Robert  Watson. 

Star  Dust     Fannie  Hurst. 

Steele  of  the  Royal  Mounted.    James  Oliver  Curwood. 

Step  on  the  Stair,  The.    Anna  Katherine  Green. 

Still  Jim.     Honore  Willsie. 

Story  of  Foss  River  Ranch,  The,    Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Story  of  Marco,  The.     Eleanor  H.  Porter. 

Strange  Case  of  Cavendish,  The.    Randall  Parrish. 

Strawberry  Acres.     Grace  S.  Richmond, 

Strength  of  the  Pines,  The.     Edison  Marshall. 

Subconscious  Courtship,  The.    Berta  Ruck. 

Substitute  Millionaire,  The.     Hulbert  Footner. 

Sudden  Jim.     Clarence  B.  Kelland. 

Sweethearts  Unmet.     Berta  Ruck. 

Sweet  Stranger.    Berta  Ruck. 

Tales  of  Chinatown.    Sax  Rohmer. 

Tales  of  Secret  Egypt    Sax  Rohmer. 

Tales  of  Sherlock  Holmes.     A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Talkers,  The.    Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Talisman,  The.    Sir  Walter  Scott.  (Photoplay  Ed.).  Screened 

as  Richard  the  Lion  Hearted. 

Taming  of  Zenas  Henry,  The.    Sara  Ware  Basset. 
Tarzan  of  the  Apes.     Edgar  Rice  Burroughs. 
Tarzan  and  the  Jewels  of  Opar.     Edgar  Rice  Burroughs. 
Tattooed  Arm,  The.    Isabel  Ostrander. 
Tempting  of  Tavernake,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
Tess  of  the  DTJrbervilles.    Thomas  Hardy.  (Photoplay  Ed.). 
Tex.     Clarence  E.  Mulford. 


'AT     A      POP  U  LAR      PRICE 

Texan,  The.    James  B.  Hendryx. 

Thankful's  Inheritance.    Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

That  Affair  at  "The  Cedars."  Lee  Thayer. 

That  Printer  of  Udell's.     Harold  Bell  Wright. 

Their  Yesterdays.     Harold  Bell  Wright. 

Thief  of  Bagdad,  The.     Achmed  Abdullah.  (Photoplay  Ed.). 

Thieves'  Wit     Hulbert*  Footner. 

Thirteenth  Commandment,  The.     Rupert  Hughes. 

This  Side  of  Paradise.     F.  Scott  Fitzgerald. 

Thoroughbred,  The.    Henry  Kitchell  Webster. 

Thread  of  Flame,  The.     Basil  King. 

Three  Black  Bags.     Marion  Polk  Angelloti. 

Three  Men  and  a  Maid.    P.  G.  Wodehouse. 

Three  Musketeers,  The.     Alexander  Dumas. 

Three  of  Hearts,  The.    Berta  Ruck. 

Through  the  Shadows  with  O.  Henry.    AI.  Jennings. 

Thunderbolt,  The.    Clyde  Perrin. 

Timber.     Harold  Titus. 

Timber  Pirate.     Charles  Christopher  Jenkins. 

Tish.    Mary  Roberts  Rinehart. 

To  Him  That  Hath.     Ralph  Connor. 

Toilers  of  the  Sea,  The.    Victor  Hugo.  (Photoplay  Ed.). 

Toll  of  the  Sands.     Paul  Delaney. 

Trail  of  the  Axe,  The.    Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Trailin*.     Max  Brand. 

Trail  to  Yesterday,  The.     Chas.  A.  Seltzer. 

Treasure  of  Heaven,  The.    Marie  Corelli. 

Trigger  of  Conscience,  The.    Robert  Orr  Chipperfield. 

Triumph  of  John  Kars,  The.     Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Triumph  of  the  Scarlet  Pimpernel,  The.    Baroness  Orczy. 

Trodden  Gold.     Howard  Vincent  O'Brien. 

Trooper  O'Neill.    George  Goodchild. 

Trouble  at  the  Pinelands,  The.     Ernest  M.  Porter. 

T.  Tembarom.     Frances  Hodgson  Burnett. 

Tumbleweeds.     Hal  G.  Evarts. 

Turn  of  the  Tide.    Eleanor  H.  Porter. 

Twenty-fourth  of  June.    Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Twins  of  Suffering  Creek,  The.    Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Two-Gun  Man,  The.     Chas.  A.  Seltzer. 

Two-Gun  Man,  The.     Robert  Ames  Bennet. 

Two-Gun  Sue.    Douglas  Grant. 

Typee.     Herman   Melville. 

Tyrrel  of  the  Cow  Country.    Robert  Ames  Bennet 

Under  Handicap.    Jackson  Gregory. 


THE   BEST  OF   RECENT   FICTION 

Under  the  Country  Sky.    Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Uneasy  Street.    Arthur  Somers  Roche, 

Unlatched  Door,  The.     Lee  Thayer. 

Unpardonable  Sin,  The.     Major  Rupert  Hughes. 

Unseen  Ear,  The.    Natalie  Sumner  Lincoln. 

Untamed,  The.    Max  Brand. 

Up  and  Coming.     Nalbro  Bartley. 

Up  From  Slavery.    Booker  T.  Washington. 

Ursula  Trent    W.  L.  George. 

Valiants  of  Virginia,  The.    Hallie  Erminie  Rives. 

Valley  of  Content,  The.     Blanche  Upright. 

Valley  of  Fear,  The.    Sir  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

Valley  of  Gold,  The.    David  Howarth. 

Valley  of  the  Sun,  The.    William  M.  McCoy. 

Vandemark's  Folly.    Herbert  Quick. 

Vanguards  of  the  Plains.    Margaret  Hill  McCarter, 

Vanished  Messenger,  The.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

Vanishing  of  Betty  Varian,  The.    Carolyn  Wells. 

Vanity  Fair.     Wm.  M.  Thackeray.   (Photoplay  Ed.). 

Vashti.    Augusta  Evans  Wilson. 

Viola  Gwyn.     George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

Virginia  of  Elk  Creek  Valley.    Mary  Ellen  Chase. 

Virtuous  Wives.     Owen  Johnson. 

Voice  of  the  Pack,  The.    Edison  Marshall. 

Wagon  Wheel,  The.    William  Patterson  White. 

Wall  Between,  The.     Sara  Ware  Bassett 

Wall  of  Men,  A.    Margaret  Hill  McCarter. 

Wasted  Generation,  The.    Owen  Johnson. 

Watchers  of  the  Plains,  The.    Ridgwell  Cullum. 

Way  of  an  Eagle,  The.     Ethel  M.  Dell. 

Way  of  the  Strong,  The.     Ridgrwell  Cullum. 

Way  of  Thes.j  Women,  The.     E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 

We  Can't  Have  Everything.    Major  Rupert  Hughes. 

Weavers,  The.    Gilbert  Parker. 

West  Broadway.     Nina  Wilcox  Putnam. 

West  Wind  Drift     George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

What's  the  World  Coming  To?     Rupert  Hughes. 

What  Will  People  Say?  Rupert  Hughes. 

Wheels  Within  Wheels.     Carolyn  Wells. 

Whelps  of  the  Wolf,  The.    George  Marsh. 

When  a  Man's  a  Man.    Harold  Bell  Wright.  (Photoplay  Ed.). 

When  Egypt  Went  Broke.    Holman  Day. 

Where  the  Sun  Swings  North.     Barnett  Willoughby. 

Where  There's  a  WilL    Mary  Roberts  Rinehart 


"AT      'A      POPULAR      PRICE 

Whispering  Sage.     Henry  Sinclair  Drago  and  Joseph   Noel. 

White  Jacket.     Herman  Melville. 

White  Moll,  The.     Frank  L.  Packard. 

Why  Not.     Margaret  Widdemer. 

Window  at  the  White  Cat,  The.    Mary  Roberts  Rinehart 

Winds  of  Chance,  The.     Rex  Beach. 

Winds  of  the  World,  The.    Talbot  Mundy. 

Wine  of  Life,  The.     Arthur  Stringer. 

Winning  of  Barbara  Worth,  The.    Harold  Bell  Wright. 

Winning  the  Wilderness.     Margaret  Hill  McCarter, 

Wire  Devils,  The.    Frank  L.  Packard. 

Wire  Tappers,  The.    Arthur  Stringer. 

Wishing  Ring  Man,  The.     Margaret  Widdemer. 

With  Juliet  in  England.     Grace  S.  Richmond. 

Within  These  Walls.     Rupert  Hughes. 

Wolfville.     Alfred  Henry  Lewis. 

Woman  from  "Outside,"  The.    Hulbert  Footner. 

Woman  Gives,  The.     Owen  Johnson. 

Woman  Haters,  The.     Joseph  'C.  Lincoln. 

Woman  of  Knockaloe,  The.     Hall  Caine. 

Woman  Thou  Gavest  Me,  The.    Hall  Caine. 

Woodcarver  of  'Lympus,  The.    Mary  E.  Waller. 

Wooing  of  Rosamond  Fayre,  The.     Berta  Ruck. 

Wrong  Mr.  Right,  The.    Berta  Ruck. 

Year  of  Delight.    Margaret  Widdemer. 

Years  for  Rachel,  The.    Berta  Ruck. 

Yellow  Claw,  The.    Sax  Rohmer. 

Yellow  Horde,  The.     Hal  G.  Evarts. 

You're  Only  Young  Once.    Margaret  Widdemer. 

Zeppelin's  Passenger,  The,    E.  Phillips  Oppenheira. 


J*  SOUTHS* '"EGIONAL  LIBRARY  FAdL 


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